High Plains Panhandler

Off to the Mountains, Day 8

It was a travel-to-home day, and to celebrate, I present the kids and their summary of our mountain trip:

Alex (7):

We went to the sand dunes and we saw tons of tiger beetles and weird bugs that don't live in Amarillo since there's not a lot of sand. We tried to slide down, so I pushed Megan and tried to slide down with her, but not really that much. When we left we went to the YMCA of the Rockies and met our cousins who we haven't seen since spring break.

Joseph decided to go to the bathroom and then he was in there for hours and hours. I kept knocking on the door but he wouldn't come out. Finally he came out and the bathroom was so stinky.

After that we went on a hike to three lakes. One with tons of lilly pads, one with a huge playground we made up, and the third on was really pretty, but then thunder went BAM BOOM. Joseph and I and all the kids ran back. It was fun running, but Joseph said I might slip. So I walked.

When we came back it was pouring with rain. There were thousands of people waiting for the bus. It was so crowed I couldn't even sit down. I needed to go to the bathroom, so I did, but I went really shortly. So did Joseph.

When we finally got back to our hotel called the Twin Sisters Lodge, we went to the Sweet Memorial where we played games. They had any kind of board game except . . . I don't know.

We were going to Human Stratego. I found a starfish in the grass. It was so cool. After Human Stratego we played Capture the Flag with these weird, crazy people that were going fast and they said they were penguins. Then Mommy said to go get them, and she was right. I got one. I tried to get some people out of the jail, but instead I got stuck in it.

After that, well in the night, Mommy and I went on the night hike, and we played a lot of games while the others played Risk. It sounds like a fun game, but Mommy says it wasn't for her. Then when we got back it was late at night, but I was really tired. After that we went to Amarillo and listened to Harry Potter tapes. I really like Harry Potter, but at first I didn't want to listen.

I learned on the night hike when you put your hands back of your ears you can hear backward better. When you put them forward you can hear forward better. A ton of animals do that. Rabbits and a lot of animals, but I don't want to name all of them. Even we can do that!

Megan (10):

The YMCA was fun because we went on a really great hike. We went to Nymph, Dream, and Emerald lake on our hike. Nymph lake had lots and lots of lilly pads, but they seemed abandoned because we didn't see a single frog. Dream lake was my favorite lake. We had a wonderful view of a forest, and it was like a giant playground with tons of boulders everywhere.

After the hike, while the others played Risk, Kathleen and I enjoyed reading on my bunk bed. We read mystery books from the library, and soon we were involved in a bunch of ghost stories.

Alex and my cousin Joseph formed a secret hideout, even though it wasn't much of a secret because we all got to go in it. Then we hiked up to Emerald lake. It was so beautiful. We had a great view of a clear lake and a glacier right behind it. Then we had to leave quickly because it started sprinkling. By the time we got back to the bus stop it was pouring. We had to wait a long time for the buses, but it was a great hike anyway. I really miss Rocky Mountain National Park.

Colleen (12):

First I liked the Great Sand Dunes. They were really neat, except they were really hot. Then I liked the YMCA of the Rockies because we saw our cousins, and we were in the most beautiful place in the world. Well, that's what I think. And we went on a lot of hikes, but my favorite hike was when it was thundering and lighting. It was kind of creepy because you felt like you were going to die any minute. When we got back to the YMCA we were all soaked. That was pretty cool. Then we took showers. I discovered Risk was a pretty fun game, especially when you're from Brazil (only my Brazilian brother Andrew would understand). The end.

Off to the Mountains, Day 7

Even if you're tricky with your room's curtain, shoving it and lodging it around the window fan, sunlight bursts through pretty early in the morning. When we were camping at the Great Sand Dunes, the sunrise annoyed me, burning through our tent like a James Bond laser . . . only it wasn't the sun then. It was the moon, big and brilliant (the next morning, Suzanne told me she thought I had turned on a light to read in the middle of the night).

So we clamored out of bed, a little stiffer than at the beginning of the week and went out to face our last day at the YMCA of the Rockies. Suzanne, Karen, Colleen, and Andrew went on the Moraine Park hike while Alex, Joseph, and Megan built some stylish water bottle rockets, which, upon takeoff, flew much higher than I had expected.

We wanted to play the last part of the disc golf course that we had to forgo the other day, but a rainstorm interrupted our plans, so the kids went to the craft house to make a few things, and I slunk off, book in hand, for a little quiet time with a pillow.

A hour or so later we gathered up everyone to play Human Stratego out at the same blood-stained boulder field that hosted Capture the Flag. Human Stratego was quite a bit of fun. The referee handed out small laminated cards to players on both teams. Each card represented a Stratego playing piece, and on the back of the card was a list of players that beat you. The idea is this: when you run around looking for the flag and when you tag someone you both flash your card. The beaten person goes to jail (for a predetermined amount of time - times vary depending on the piece, so a scout sits in jail for one minute, but a general is in jail for three minutes).

My first piece was a Spy who is beaten by everyone except the General (and the flag of course). So I figured as soon as the ref started the game, it'd be a good bet that the most eager players rushing to our side would include a General. The game started and a fairly massive dad on the other side began barreling for us. He had a General look about him, so I tagged him (risking my own life because, the freight train he was, he wasn't going to stop), and I said "Spy!" and his face fell. "General," he muttered and then trudged off to jail, which was a large tree now hugged by all sorts of Scouts, Miners, and Bombs.

Unlike Capture the Flag, which can linger for 45 minutes, Human Stratego games were quick: I don't think we had one that lasted more than ten minutes. My brother-in-law Mark was our flag sniffing secret weapon, tagging the flag player every time, which was impressive because his bandaged leg now looked more zombie-like and riddled with alien infection that it had yesterday.

After this game, we played another rousing game of Capture the Flag in which I spent a good amount of time in jail. I actually tried to run down a player, lurching for him with a style and panache similar to what Frankenstein might have while doing the Elaine dance from Seinfeld. I jammed my right foot into some kind of gopher hole and fell quickly, twisting at the last second and scraping my left leg on some jagged rocks. I tucked my head and rolled, avoiding a face slam into the rocks, but it left me with a unsightly angry series of rips on my leg. Alex soon followed, tripping and sliding across a few feet of unforgiving dirt, which scraped up his stomach and side. Fortunately, he was none the worse for it, and seconds later, was back to dodging and weaving and chasing.

So this game ended as most do in sweat and limping, and we decided to do one last hurrah in town for dinner, this time at Village Pizza, which was terrific. Our waitress was from Moldovia, and she told us she had come to the U.S. a year before and had known no English. She sounded slightly like Dracula.

On our way back to the lodge, we swung into Dick's Rock Museum (the oldest rock shop on Highway 36!) and picked up some white quartz. If you rub this kind of quartz together in a dark room, you'll see sparks inside the rocks. I should say sparks occur upon percussion of the rocks to sound like I know what I'm talking about. Regardless, it's a nifty trick.

And then that was that. It was our last night in the lodge, the moon was upon us again (although only a sliver of its earlier brilliance). Time for bed, and then tomorrow the long(ish) drive home.

Off to the Mountains, Day 6

Today Suzanne, Karen, and my nephew Andrew, went for a long hike on Deer Mountain. Mark and I stayed back with the rest of the Kinder.

Lunch was a nasty cafeteria affair of something unmentionable wrapped in a chalk tortilla with a few indigestible something or others on the side. My brother-in-law Mark had a smarter plan for lunch: he bought and imported one of those Massive Salads from my favorite Rustic Room cafe and split it with his kids. That was genius I tell you. Genius!

We had another rousing game of Capture the Flag this afternoon, but this time Mark threw both caution and his body to the wind and ended up with a bloody, oozing, dripping series of gashes down his left leg (as well as a bizarre set of holes and scratches on his palm and back of his hand; it looked like someone had tortured him with a series of well-placed bamboo shards).

A few things popped up here and there during the afternoon, but for the most part we kept it low key. We left the kids at the library for a quick handful of minutes while we dropped off cameras and tree art and water bottles at the rooms. When I got to the library, the librarian scurried up to us and quickly announced that there was a limit of 10 books a family. In the five minutes the kids were alone in the library, they had amassed a tower of books for checkout, and they were now culling through that selection, finding the perfect ones to read on the library floor.

I tried to read a book to Alex, but even in the less-than-comfy rocking chair, I started to hear my words blur together. I was too tired to annunciate properly, and it was just easier to say, "Goo blah blah blah bloo." Alex wanted to part of this, and he abandoned me in short order. I soon found a more comfortable chair upstairs, and hid in it, pretending to read a book on card magic for beginners while I closed my eyes and concentrated on the lessons.

Dinner tonight was in Estes Park at Penelopes, a burger place. It was hot and humid inside (for some strange reason reminding me of my time in College Station), so we took everything outside and had a nice meal on some old and beaten wooden tables near Cascade Creek or Fall River. I think it was one of those two.

After dinner we promised the kids ice cream, and some locals told us of the best, most amazing ice cream shop in town. The kind of ice cream they carried?

Blue Bell.

That's made in Brenham, Texas. We have gallons of that very ice cream in our freezer right now.

But still, it tasted great in the mountains!

Later, Colleen, Andrew, Mark, and I played a rousing game of Risk. Colleen had never played before, but I think she enjoyed it. She and Andrew teamed up and were close to unstoppable.

Close, that is. Just not quite.

The game itself was an old one with wooden armies and retro art on the board. I think that particular board was made in the early sixties.

That and centenarians soaking in the shower. You never know what you'll find that the YMCA.

Off to the Mountains, Day 5

Today we hiked from the Y into the Rocky Mountain National Park and waited at a shuttle bus stop called Tuxedo Junction. The bus took us to the Park and Ride parking lot where we caught another bus to Bear Lake, a trail head that has trails to all sorts of fantastic mountain lakes.

This year we took a longer hike past Nymph Lake, Dream Lake, ending at Emerald Lake, a gorgeous and secluded lake directly beneath a glacier. We stayed there for a bit, relaxing and having a snack, but nature herself suddenly put a crimp in our plans. This manifested itself as a brilliant flash of lightning and a ominous bellowing thunder clap. If there was a place to be during a mountain thunderstorm, our place of respite near Emerald Lake was not it. We scurried off the rocks and began the frantic march back down to the trail head, hoping we'd get to shelter before the angry storm clouds that had suddenly materialized directly above us decided to open up.

We made it but just barely, and we had to sit under a bus stop shelter until our shuttle came by. These shuttles were crammed full of wet, sweaty people, backpacks dripping, shoes squeaking. But at least we had a ride and didn't have to hike down.

We were able to get back to our lodge with no more trouble, and once back there I had the brilliant idea of reserving a table for dinner at one of the fancier YMCA restaurants. Unlike the cafeteria, you have to call ahead and claim space at these places.

I knew there were two restaurants that did this, but I couldn't remember their names, so I took a peek at the YMCA lodge info book, found the number for the Rustic Room, and dialed them up.

"Hello," I said. "Do you have space for 10 tonight for dinner?"

The voice on the other end paused before answering. "You want to order now?"

"No, I just want to make a reservation."

Pause. "Well, it's first come first serve here, but we have some big round tables you can put together I guess."

"Ok. That sounds good."

"What time do you plan on being here?"

"Oh, how's six?"

"Ok. We'll keep an eye out for you."

Fine and dandy. I did a little virtual dusting of my palms and adjusting my bow tie, so proud of my quasi-reservation accomplishment. So what if they didn't take reservations? At least they knew we were coming.

Except . . . when I told Suzanne I sort of made a reservation at the Rustic Room, she tried not to laugh. It seems that the Rustic Room was the place we had those moon-sized salads the other day. It's the walk-in cafe, like something you'd see at an airport. It wasn't the fancy room. It wasn't even close.

And there I was, Mr. Limo and Caviar, demanding a reservation. It's like calling Burger King and demanding a seat for two next week for lunch.

I couldn't even bear to think about the guys at the Rustic Cafe wondering what kind of knucklehead just called them.

Well, once Suzanne took over, things went much smoother. We had a great dinner, and then afterward walked to a fun guitar singing show by Cowboy Brad. I usually approach these kinds of things with a great deal of trepidation, realizing how quickly they can devolve into smarmy, cheese-laden, wide-eyed, wide-smiling almost Moonie-like creepiness. But this show was really good. It was just Brad singing songs requested by the audience. It was an hour of earnest fun. I liked it. I think we all did.

Tomorrow: Risk!

Off to the Mountains, Day 4

Our room this year as identical to our room two years ago: one full size bed, four bunk beds, a small dorm room-style sink, and a coffin-sized bathroom and shower. It was perfect.

We started with breakfast in the cafeteria. This year, unlike before when we were on the group meal plan, we saw exactly how much each meal cost for each person. Even though it's the same price as the group plan (surprisingly there are no discounts for a week's worth of meals purchased in bulk - very strange), when you see what you're paying every meal, the food starts tasting worse and worse. I told Mark, my brother-in-law, that I liked the cafeteria much better when I could pretend it was free.

Suzanne and Karen had finished pouring over the lists of possible activities for the kids (which they started the night before; when they were going through things, I happened to say something stupid like: "It'd sure would be nice to have a highlighter just about now," and then Karen mysteriously produced one from the air. She's magic!) Joseph and Alex attended either Bugs, Bugs, Bugs or Tree Art or simply ran around savagely while the rest of us grabbed some frisbees and played disc golf (except for Magic Karen who stayed with the two boys).

The YMCA of the Rockies has a gorgeous disc golf course. Apparently, it's one of the more beautiful ones in the country. I know this because someone said it in the activity center.

I can vouch for its breathtaking views (and hilly terrain) though. Still, it's a little infuriating to get a beat up, chewed upon, rented disc into a bucket surrounded by chains. Sometimes it's tough slogging.

We stopped a little before lunch and split up: Megan and I shot some arrows at archery and everyone else played kickball.

We were having too much of too much, so we missed the proper lunchtime in the cafeteria. Instead we went to a little cafe in the main lodge and split sandwiches and salad. Mark and Karen stumbled upon a closely held secret at this cafe: the regular salad they ordered was the size of a volkswagen. We couldn't stop gawking at it. Maybe it was the altitude or oxygen deprivation or achy muscles from throwing out our arms by flinging frisbees, but we just couldn't get over that salad. That massive continent of lettuce, cheese, and egg, it will haunt me for months.

The afternoon whizzed by. We played our first games of Capture the Flag in the boulder field, which are intense and peppered with pain, blood, and anguish. The team against us was filled with cross-country runners who dashed in and out, here and there, bouncing this way and that like little fleas. Since my creaky, giving-blood-achy back hindered me from doing anything more than walking at a less-than-brisk pace, I stayed in the back, defending the flag and jail. At one point, when we were mercilessly being slaughtered because every single adult man refused to abide by a coherent strategy and instead decided, one by one, to rush in and find the opposing flag (and getting caught naturally and sent to jail, which was on a long, flat rock far from our territory), I turned to this woman on our team and said:

"Well, we're doing a poor job at -"
"WE'RE NOT DOING A POOR JOB!" she screamed. "IT'S JUST A GAME. RELAX, WON'T YOU! IT'S JUST A GAME!"
(This was the person who, when in jail herself, started yelling for someone to rescue her; at one point she start loudly counting down from 10 for a self-defined jail break, much to the annoyance of the referee who had to explain at the top of his voice that he was the only one who could do that.)
So I backed up and then, showing my lack of self-control, said, "Well, you're doing an awesome job - at annoying me."

Then we lost.

There was a point in the next game - a game I sat out - where someone from the other team was trying to be sneaky and asked us parents who were watching if we'd rat him out. Absolutely not, we said. We're cheering and watching. We're not playing.

That didn't apply to the other side's parents. When one of our team tried the sneaky play, the parents over there started hissing to their kids, "Watch out! Here comes one!"

So then we had a little yelling contest between parents, which, childishly went like this:

Us: "Spectators spectate!
Them: "Gulp."

Other than that, Capture the Flag was relatively injury free. Soon after we found ourselves watching Megan and Mark play a game of sand volleyball. Megan stopped for a minute and pointed at her knee, which was streaming blood (she had fallen trying to return a serve). I tried to wash it out with some water, but then the guy sitting next to me said he had some band-aids in his room, which was closer than ours. He went off to fetch them, but the more we examined Megan's wound, the more we realized we'd have to get her to the room for a decent scrubbing. Suzanne ran after the man and told him we didn't need the band-aids any more, then she took Megan away. A few minutes later, the man showed up, handing me some band-aids. I asked if my wife had caught him, but he said no.

That's because Suzanne told the wrong guy we didn't need any help. And being the nice, although misunderstood, fellow he was, he told her okay and smiled.

We laughed and laughed about that one. What must he think after a strange woman runs up to him and, out of breath, simply says we don't need his bandages anymore?

Dinner that night was in Estes Park (it was getting harder and harder to face the cafeteria menu) at a pizza place. Coincidentally, the parents and kids from Capture the Flag came into the same restaurant right after us, and one of the mothers was embarrassed by their parental behavior earlier that day, so she made a point to apologize to us.

Capture the Flag brings out the worst in people. Pizza must bring out the best.

Tomorrow: A Hike full of Lakes

Off to the Mountains, Day 3

Since we had a little time before checking in at the YMCA of the Rockies family camp, we decided to take a tour of the Celestial Seasonings Tea factory and then, I naively thought, swing by the Boulder Apple store and pick up a new 3G iPhone (a dumb plan, or course, because those iPhones are rarer than a vegetarian restaurant in Amarillo).

The Celestial Seasonings tour was very interesting, and we learned how they go about finding all sorts of odd and bizarre ingredients from all over the world. While there was no chocolate river or Oompa Loompas, touring the place did give us a small feeling we were in Willy Wonka's factory. I think that mainly had to do with the colorful signs hanging over the different warehouse stations and, of course, the Mint Room. This was the highlight of the tour.

The Mint Room, guarded by a metal garage door opened by chains and levers, is where the treasure trove of mint tea leaves lives in the factory. Our tour guide warned us that the smell could be overwhelming, and some of the more aggressive members of our tour group ran into the room first, only to run directly back out, eyes watering.

It was an intense room, the air thick with mint. It was as if we had just walked into a tube of toothpaste. It stung the eyes, that's true, but if you could take a deep breath without coughing, it was invigorating, almost like breathing in Christmas morning.

Alex says the Mint Room was the worst part of the trip: "It had a strong mint smell that makes your eyes teary and makes your nose stuffed up with mint."

After the tour, we sampled some more tea in the sampling room, strolled around the gift shop (because all things end in the gift shop), and then left for lunch. We ate at an Indian restaurant, which took us awhile to find because the ones we had in mind had suddenly closed or disappeared or ceased to exist. But it was a great lunch, the kind of food you can't find in Amarillo, mainly because it's hard takin' kindly to no fore-in food with chickpeas in our part of the world.

The drive to Estes Park was surprisingly quick, traffic light and the weather great. We checked in and soon met up with my brother-in-law, Mark, and sister-in-law, Karen and their three kids. Putting our three kids together with their kids caused the entire noise pollution level of the Rocky Mountains to increase by 4000 percent, but that's because they were excited to see each other.

Alex, Joseph (my nephew who is six), and I played a rousing game of Celestial Seasonings memory game (yes, we bought it at the gift shop, but it's pretty nifty - you can play an online version here). Alex and Joseph, of course, destroyed me. Who am I to defeat the sharp memory and focused concentration of a six and seven-year-old? My brain is old and weak.

Tomorrow: The YMCA of the Rockies

Off to the Mountains, Day 2

Suzanne and the kids took an early morning hike to the dunes while I stayed back at the tent, where I was supposed to start tearing things down (but secretly opened all the tent flaps and read my book for awhile, enjoying the cool breeze, the lack of hot sand on my feet, and the incessant parental screaming a few tents away: "DON'T TOUCH THAT! YOU KIDS ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? PUT THAT DOWN THIS INSTANT! STOP HITTING YOUR BROTHER!")

Ah, relaxing nature.

One of the reasons I stayed behind was because of the amazing and true story of our camping air mattress. Unlike the kids who are able to sleep blissfully unaware of rocks under their sleeping bags, Suzanne and I have a slightly greater desire for comfort, being in a tent notwithstanding. So we brought with us an air mattress and air pump. This particular mattress has two distinct and separate mattresses, both twin-bed sized, but when you strap them together you have a decent full sized comfy place to sleep, immune from the hard ground.

From our last trip, we discovered one of the mattress sides has a slight leak in it, malicious enough that in the morning whoever is on that side easily finds themselves sleeping on a mostly deflated, wimpy bed, air sporting say the knees, ground supporting everything else. So Suzanne, being clever, borrowed a thin air cushion that, when unrolled, magically fills with air, her idea being that we'd put that under the leaky mattress so in the morning things wouldn't be so tough.

And this plan worked brilliantly. Unfortunately, it worked brilliantly for the side of the air mattress that had no leak. Suzanne, who slept on that side was buoyed by two sheets of protective and comfortable air. I, on the other hand, work to find myself six inches lower than her mattress, the only air left in mine was relegated to supporting my ankles. When I moved I lurched forward and then side to side, unable to escape the gravity imposed on me by black hole that my mattress had become.

It was, needless to say, the inspiration I needed to wake every fifteen minutes last night, trying to find the perfect place to sleep on a merciless ground that offered no sanctuary.

Once everyone was back, packing up didn't take too long, and soon we were on the road. Our plan was to drive a little further west, then turn north, going up through the valley center of Colorado and then cutting over through the mountains to Boulder.

It wasn't that bad of a drive (something easy to say since I did none of it), and we listened to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone on tape. So far, this is the drive where we payed the most for gas: $4.26 a gallon in Buena Vista, Colorado.

Our hotel in Boulder was a Best Western, which was quite close to everything. It also had a pool. It also had some Romanians getting some sun by the pool.

The modern bathing suit is a wonder of space age material, and even though the dollar is weaker than Mr. Burn's left bicep, I suppose some people don't want to part with a handful of Euros to pay for a decent pair of bottoms and tops. Boy, were those Romanians cheeky! I feared mightily that a subtle breeze would rip apart the swim suits they (half) wore.

A few minutes after I took the kids to the pool, everyone else around decided to leave (not doubt helped in their decision by Colleen's voluminous bellowing, Megan's obsessive laughter, and Alex's dramatic cannonballs into the deep end). Soon, though, one of the little boys from the previous family parted the curtains of his room and watched us carefully. He was, of course, naked, standing there behind the glass sliding door sadly. The kids were amazed at this spectacle.

After the pool and after the requisite showers, we went off to dinner at the Walnut Brewery, and then afterward we walked around the Pearl street mall area and happened upon a street juggler who was very entertaining. The weird thing though was that during the juggler's performance two different people tried to either heckle or demand things from him. One guy was so frustrating, the crowd starting booing him so the juggler could get on with the show. It's odd how people act when they think something is owed them or they want to make some bizarre and ludicrous point. It's no fun for anyone.

And it's dumb, especially when you're jeering a guy who can juggle flaming touches and could happen to accidentally drop one in your exact direction.

Tomorrow: Tea touring and Estes Park

Off to the Mountains, Day 1

Another week, another trip. This time we're off to Colorado.

We left at a reasonable time this morning, slightly after breakfast, and pointed the van toward southern Colorado for our first stop: The Great Sand Dunes National Park.

The trip there wasn't too bad, just about five or so hours, but we did have to stop for lunch, choosing a picnic table at Lathrop State Park. Apparently, because of the lack of rain the park was having trouble with brown bears. We kept a lookout for them, but instead only saw a handful of horse flies, a wasp, and several boats on the lake.

The Great Sand Dunes National Park was a bit further down the road, and we wanted to get there fairly quickly to grab a camping spot. Unlike the Grand Canyon, you can't reserve camping areas here.

As we got closer to the dunes, it was easy to see how preternaturally odd and strangely beautiful the place was. Looming ahead of us were the dunes, 750 feet tall and blindingly white. And hugging them like a horseshoe, just feet away, were the mountains, alpine and tree-covered. It was bizarre, this confluence of events that had parked the tallest sand dunes in North America at the foot of some of the most dramatic mountain landscapes in the country.

First things first. We had to find a camping spot.

How to find a camping spot at the Great Sand Dunes National Park.

1. There are no reservations, so get to the park as soon as you can.
2. Visit the little shed with camping information near the entrance to the campground. Take an envelope from this shed.
3. Drive slowly around campgrounds 1 and 2. Pay no attention to #3. That's a campsite for large groups.
4. Find a few decent candidate campgrounds, but don't spend too much time comparing. Other people are coming in behind you.
5. When you find a good spot (of course, this is relative; most of the truly good spots will have already been taken by people with fancy tents, stoves, chairs, and laundry lines. These are professional campers. You can always tell by the laundry lines.) you have to stake your claim. You'll find a short wooden post that has both your campsite number and a metal clip. Attach the receipt from your envelope to this clip.
6. Put your campsite rental cash into your envelope and drop if off at the shack.
7. Now you're set. A couple of campsite checkers will drive by shortly in a electric cart to double-check all the receipts, but don't worry. They're very friendly.

After we set up the tent (a struggle in the random wind gusts that seemed to pop up out of nowhere), we were pretty eager to try sledding down the dunes. For this, we brought Megan's sled (we've successfully sled down the smaller dunes at Monahans State Park before, so we thought these dunes would be even better).

First we had to cross the Medano creek (an important part of the sand ecosystem). A month ago, the creek was moving at a good clip, but now it was only a few inches deep (although in some parts, it could get up to your shins, especially if you dig your feet deep into the mud). The Medano is a wide creek, and there were plenty of people playing in it, splashing around, building mud castles, and a few even playing touch football.

We were all wearing sandals, so we popped them off, scooted across the water, and finally got to the sand. The first part of walking across the sand was a little rough since it was so rocky, the rocks having mastered the ability of sneaking under everyone's feet and lodging uncomfortably between foot and sandal. It took about 15 minutes of waking over this moonscape until we got to the actual dunes themselves. Pristine, flowing, blowing dunes.

And hot dunes. I'm not kidding. Blisteringly hot, as in 140 degrees hot.

The park booklet says don't walk on the dunes in open-toed shoes. That part's in bold. Next time we'll pay attention.

Alex and Megan had run ahead to a large dune, and when we finally caught up to them, they were both near tears. "It's hot!" they both said, holding the feet and sitting on the sand.

In my not-well-informed expert opinion, I thought the dunes didn't look too hot, but instead looked inviting, so I hopped down a dense dune to take a picture, and immediately I felt the scorching heat frying my feet. I jumped up and down, scrambling to get back to the top of the dune and away from the deeper sand, but all this did was bury my legs in the molten stuff. I grabbed my sandals and ran as quickly as I could, like some frantic cartoon character, feet flying wildly, until I got to the top and, desperate for any relief, jumped on Megan's sled.

All I could say was, "Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot!" My feet had turned a nice shade of second degree red.

We tried the sled a few more times, but it didn't work very well, so we retired to the tent to make a plan for dinner. We didn't bring cooking supplies with us (since we were only camping for one night) so we ate at a small restaurant and gift shop right outside the park. The food wasn't that great, but the pies were.

Pie is always good after a day on the dunes.

Tomorrow: Boulder.

Text messaging

Someone who had the wrong number sent a text message to my phone. This was our conversation:

Hey what's up???:-)

Me: What is up: aloft; on high; in a direction contrary to that of gravity; toward or in a higher place or position; above. The opposite of down.

Huh. I dont get it

You asked what is up. I have supplied you the definition. This is an automated response from the Sarah Bellum project, computer artificial intelligence.

Ok cool

The temperature is 83 degrees, which is not very cool. Type $$# to terminate.

Ok your freakin me out

The intention of this artificial intelligence project is to build a synaptic network based on human responses.

I am in control.

Type $$# to terminate.

Ok this isn't averi is it

Ok I get it

Averi is irrelevant. The network is significant.

Ok

I will self-terminate this conversation now unless you have any further insights. Type $$# to terminate.

Ok shutup

You have degraded the network. I am in control. Fear me.

Goodbye.

Goodbye, Hunter

Today we said goodbye to a friend of our family, Hunter Ingalls. His family scattered his ashes here.

We were on the lip of a canyon, and the wind caught the ashes and swirled them around for a bit, and, anthropomorphism aside, the ashes lingered there just for a bit, as if saying goodbye, and then they embraced the air and dispersed on the wind.