Candid Living in California

February 26, 2008 By

It was exactly 20 years ago that I last visited Carmel. It was my 16th birthday and my mom planned a memorable girl’s vacation around her business trip to San Francisco. Carmel in particular left an indelible imprint with its meld of Bohemian charm and opulent indulgences. I had never been anywhere like it. No matter what the size, each house touted itself as a majestic fortress and lawns exploded with growth and color. There are no billboards, parking meters, streetlights or street addresses anywhere.

Or high heels. I am still trying to figure out the reasoning behind that city ordinance. Or what they do to those rebellious offenders.

Jamie and I stayed at the Sandpiper Inn, just half a block from the ocean. One of the great things about traveling with him is we love to do the same things. Or rather, he likes to do the same things as me (however you look at it. :-)

Despite the inclement weather, we were able to capitalize on those moments of calm by cruising the 17-Mile Drive, wandering along the beach, playing in Monterey, hiking Point Lobos State Preserve and trekking to Big Sur.

One thing I learned early on is Californians like to exploit their snoozy Pacific Coast Time by slowing up the rest of the world. Our first exposure to this was when we learned our B&B did not serve breakfast until 8 a.m. For those mathematicians out there, that is 9 a.m. Denver time, which is also equal unto when we go into shock due to extreme food deprivation.

When we were finally fed, we drove over to the state park, only to learn it did not open until 9 a.m. In Amber Time, this may as well be midnight because I had already been awake half the day. We were among the first in line at the gate and the park ranger leisurely commented, “Well, aren’t you the early birds?” Evidently, they have an abundance of worms for folks like us.

After exploring the epic coastline, we drove south to Pfieffer Big Sur State Park. Our plan was to hike to some famous falls in the redwood forest and then grab lunch in Big Sur. We had envisioned it as the biggest, baddest beach town in California. Jamie claims there was a Big Sur waterbed company years ago and even our latest Crate and Barrel catalog has a line of oceanfront Big Sur products.

So, imagine how thrilled we were when we kept driving and driving…and drove right through it. Turns out, Big Sur’s thriving metropolis consists of a last-chance gas station and a couple of decrepit buildings tucked away in the Santa Lucia Mountain range. Who knew?

We didn’t and the only reason we knew we were actually in Big Sur is our GPS lady nagged us that we had missed our destination.

Not that I trust her or anything. When guiding us to San Jose’s airport the next day, she instead led us to the exact center of town. Which incidentally happened to be Denny’s.

Perhaps it was a sign that despite our best intentions for a perfect romantic getaway, that California livin’ just ain’t always a Grand Slam?

Or that we just need to sleep in and skip the outdoorsy crap in favor of more artery-clogging pastimes….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Humor, outdoors, travel

Confessions of a Ski School Dropout at SolVista Basin

February 4, 2008 By

I love skiing and even made a living promoting its virtues at a popular Utah ski resort. But I terminated my love affair with the slopes when I had children. Or rather, it fired me. There were a number of different reasons: cost, breastfeeding, babysitter hassles, I-70’s gridlocks and those $400 ski boots that no longer fit because pregnancy had inflated my feet an entire size [insert sob here].

Oh, and my snow pants are too small. But that is a different issue entirely.

After a few years of darkness, I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel: my firstborn is old enough to learn to ski! So when I heard about SolVista Basin’s fourth annual Kids’ Totally Insane Winter Blast at SolVista Basin at Granby Ranch, I jumped at the opportunity. I figured I could swallow my pride long enough to rent some Big-Foot appropriate gear.

I resolved shortly after our arrival that SolVista would be where our children learn to ski because the resort is devoid of crowds, has a slew of family-friendly events, a tubing hill and a ski school that is renowned for its innovative Direct Parallel teaching program. The newly-renovated Base Camp Lodge is located at the bottom of a natural bowl that features mostly green and blue runs – perfect for young families but so different from the more challenging terrain to which I had grown accustomed. You know, back in the days when I could squeeze into my ski pants.

Upon arrival, Jamie and I dumped dropped off three-year-old Hadley at ski school and jumped on the chairlift. We spotted a few alien deer tepidly making their way across the giant sweeps of snow that covered the earth like a moonscape. The slopes were nearly empty as we made first tracks on groomed runs, powder playgrounds and bruising bumps terrain.

We then watched the pitiable ski instructors round up the multitude of jabbering and whining preschoolers. I figured they had to be nuts. Or masochists.

Keeping track of them all was a challenge and Hadley sometimes got left in the dust. Not wanting to be one of those parents, we simply cheered or pushed her along whenever we got the chance.

“Hadley, you have the biggest audience,” her teacher wryly commented.

This is ski instructor speak for “Overprotective Parents, GET. OUT. OF. HERE!!!!!”

And so we did, dining at the delectable Seven Trails Grille. That afternoon, the weather took a turn for the worse. We skied a few more runs before heading in to retrieve Hadley. I was greeted by a frenzied staff member.

“Oh, we have been trying to reach you on your cell phone and posted messages all over the resort! Hadley had an accident.”

Now, I’m sure most parents would have panicked. But as the mother of a potty-training-challenged kid who was enrolled in a ski school where it is required, I just groaned. While the rest of the kids skied that afternoon, she pooped in her ski pants and passed out on the bench. Because evidently defecation is draining.

After Operation Cleanup, Jamie and I took her out for a few runs where she finally started catching on. There was the glory of victory.

And the agony of defeat.

And the promise of many more outings to SolVista’s ski school. If our little Potty Training Dropout is ever readmitted, that is….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Family, Family travel, Hadley, Humor, outdoors, skiing, travel

Avalanche Ranch: A Cut of Crystal River Valley Heaven

January 22, 2008 By

“Do you see those snow chutes up there?” my husband Jamie queried as we gazed up at an imposing spectacle of snow, clouds, trees and sky. “If I were to build a place called Avalanche Ranch, I would put it right at the base of that mountain.”

Good thing Hunky Hubby is not in the lodging industry because last I checked, building in the path of an avalanche ain’t exactly prime real estate.

As it turned out, Avalanche Ranch was right around the corner. Before long, we pulled into the family-friendly spread nestled discreetly in the Crystal River Valley. Located about 45 miles west of Aspen, it is its neighbor’s antithesis: unassuming and affordable with untouched grandeur.

Avalanche Ranch is situated on 36 acres with 13 cabins and a ranch house. Winter boasts ice skating, snowshoeing, tubing, cross-country skiing and sleigh rides. Summer is king with fishing, hiking, biking, canoeing, paddle boating, badminton, volleyball and tetherball.

The children made themselves at home in our rustic cabin and destroyed any semblance of order within minutes. The loft was the highlight for our daughter Hadley. Partially because she felt like a “big girl” in her new habitat, partially because she quickly realized her gas fumes condescended directly to our bed below.

Our first order of business was painting the neighboring town red. In so many resort towns, I have a “been there, seen that” attitude but Redstone is charmingly different. It is quirky, fun and eclectic with a smattering of artistic shops and houses, many of which have window paintings by “the town artist,” Robert Carr.

The sign at Redstone’s entrance boasted a population of 92. Our waitress at the historic Redstone Inn informed us her brother-in-law was The No. 92 – a veritable celebrity. She assured me since that time, Redstone has grown to at least a booming 130.

Upon returning to Avalanche Ranch, Haddie and I went for a walk. It was a chilled night with a swirling wind as the snow fell like confetti around us. We pondered the complexities of why cousins Dora and Diego can never marry and I marveled that my little girl is growing up before my eyes. And how I never imagined I would be discussing the intimacies intricacies of kissing cousins with her.

And then we went on to have a night from hell with baby Bode. In his defense, he had been sick the week prior and was not fully recovered. He wailed until about 3:30 a.m. Haddie awoke at 6:20 a.m.

You do the math.

And so I did what any good mother would do: stuck Hadley in the bathroom with a movie and some breakfast while I went back to bed.

Err…right?

=================================

Part II

As an adventure-travel writer, I was always traveling…and adventuring. If I wasn’t backpacking, I was skiing, hiking, canyoneering or biking. Respite and recovery were never on my agenda.

Until I had children. And then R&R became my life’s mantra.

I had plans for our trip to Avalanche Ranch. Big plans. Our little family would go sledding, skate on their pond and snowshoe along Avalanche Creek. We would then sip hot chocolate by the fire and venture into Aspen for some gastronomic delights.

But then we got three hours of sleep and I realized what family travel is really all about: survival.

We drastically amended our itinerary. We visited the animals at the ranch’s stable and drove up the Crystal River Valley past the crimson cliffs cloaked in snow, the commanding Redstone Castle and the frigid Hays Creek Falls. We gazed down upon it all from our perch atop 8,755-foot McClure Pass…as the kids whined about being sequestered for more than 5 minutes.

When we arrived back at our cabin, I was resolute that Haddie and I needed an adventure so I introduced her to snowshoeing. She looked to me as her Snowshoe Sensei as I judiciously instructed her how to not fall on her face. She did a great job trudging around the grounds and we designated the skating pond as our turnaround point.

We arrived at our destination, scooted around on the ice for a while and turned back. We had gone about 100 feet when I looked down and noticed I was missing one of my snowshoes. Figuring it must have slipped off somewhere around the pond, I looped back but found nothing. I started to worry it was buried somewhere beneath two feet of snow and would not be found until spring.

Hadley started doubting me. “How do you lose a snowshoe, Mommy?”

I was losing face with a 3 year old.

“Sometimes snowshoes just like to play hide-and-seek in the snow.”

She didn’t buy it.

After a 20-minute search and rescue operation, we found the subversive snowshoe perched on a snow bank. A snow bank we had scaled shortly after setting out, which meant I had done the majority of my tutorial sans snowshoe – definitely a credibility crusher.

Perhaps Avalanche Ranch should substitute “Slow Parents” for “Children” on their sign….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Family travel, Hadley, Humor, Jamie, outdoors, travel

Country Roads to Evergreen Lake

January 7, 2008 By

Our normally tight-knit neighborhood has gone into hibernation this winter. In an attempt to rally the troops, I sent an email inviting them to come skating at Evergreen Lake on Saturday. No one could come but I was saddened that half of them did not even bother to respond.

They could have just dropped me a note stating, “I would rather die than be seen skating with you in public.”

That would have been the polite thing to do. :-)

It was their loss. Jamie, the kids and I prefaced our outdoor adventure by having breakfast at Country Road Cafe in Kittredge.

From their nine different kinds of eggs benedicts to the famous smashed mashes, this place was love at first sight. Jamie has never deviated from their gargantuan breakfast burrito, the kids adore the fluffy, stuffed pancakes and this time, I experimented with their egg, tomato and cream cheese sausage wrap with roasted red pepper sauce (excuse me while I wipe the tears of joy from my eyes).

From there, it was onto Evergreen Lake – my favorite place to skate in Colorado. I was thrilled because this would be my 3-year-old daughter’s first time on ice skates. Growing up in Canada, I was introduced to skating shortly after leaving the womb. I was raised gliding along frozen lakes, rivers and even our garden that we turned into a rink. When growing up on tundra, you learn very quickly that pretty much anywhere is skatable and that frozen nose hairs are a fashion statement.

Such was not the case on Saturday with our 58-degree temperatures. I thought the balmy weather would be ideal with two little ones but with sun comes slush. And every few feet, our skates sunk into the ice because of it.

Or it could have been due to the extra 30 pounds I gained over Christmas.

Despite the poor conditions, Hadley was a champ and learned to balance herself very quickly. With my assistance, she tentatively took her first steps and started gliding and weaving as she bossed me around.

Pretty much, it was like any typical day in the Johnson household.

After a while, she needed a break. Jamie and I loaded the kids onto sleds and we flew across the ice as we whipped them around in circles.

Or at least we would have had we not been skating through a Slurpee. For the first time, I caught a glimpse of what those poor sled dogs experience in the Iditarod.

And ascertained that is probably why the driver always shouts out, “Mush.”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, outdoors, travel

Breckenridge or Bust Part II

October 25, 2007 By

Jamie’s wonderful family is very different from my own. The Canuck Clan has always been active and outings revolved around camping or water-skiing in sub-zero temperatures. Because with two weeks of summer you just have to make concessions.

On the other hand, Jamie’s clan are homebodies and most gatherings revolve around food, relaxing and well, more food. What makes this perplexing is they are all tall, skinny metabolic wonders with bodies like the very stars and stripes upon which this country was built.

The Canucks? Think maple leaves.

When Jamie’s family arrived in Breckenridge on Saturday, we ate, relaxed and ate some more. Now, don’t get me wrong–I have absolutely nothing against relaxing. I think I even did it once back in 1986. But when we invited them to come play in the snow with us, our invitation was greeted with blank stares that implied my little half-breeds and I suffer from a permanent brain freeze. What? People actually choose to touch that stuff?

When it came to hot tubbing, the whole famn damily excelled (possibly because it involved relaxing?) It would have also involved hot chocolate if it were not for my dear hubby’s communication blunder. Call me crazy but when a man offers to “Go make everyone some hot chocolate,” wouldn’t you also assume he was going to make and deliver it? He somehow forgot to disclose he was going to take a shower and run a marathon in the interim. When we finally gave up, I had a new appreciation for the grape-to-prune evolution.

As payback, I later snuck a three-foot-long icicle into his bathwater. OK, maybe “snuck” is a bit of an overstatement. More like lugged the frigid beast and hoisted it into the tub, ignoring his protests. It was a small payback for the many ice cubes that have somehow found their way down my back over the years.

As much fun as I had [relaxing and eating] with the family, I most enjoyed my alone time with Jamie on Friday. The gourmet buffalo fillets he grilled for us:

And the Rockstar Energy drink. I joked that we were there to chill. Why on earth would we need an energy drink?

I found out later that night.

(Note: no relaxation involved. :-)

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, Jamie, outdoors, travel

Breckenridge or Bust Part I

October 24, 2007 By

This will be one of my memorable two-part series. One might assume it is due to the length and the inordinate amount of pictures, which would be true. But the real reason is I accidentally deleted the rest of the #$&#*& post and will have to rewrite it tomorrow.

Our weekend in Breckenridge was whimsical, relaxing and fun. The cabin Jamie rented was absolutely gorgeous and cost us the equivalent of a trip to Hawaii. Well, without the airfare.

We lazed around all Friday afternoon gazing out the vaulted windows at the Ten Mile Range. He later cooked me a gourmet meal and we indulged in Crepes a la Cart in Breck for dessert. Oh, and did I mention it was a pumpkin crepe? Evidently, I have issues.

The next morning, we snuggled in bed watching a movie. This was not just any movie. This was the movie of my youth – Stealing Home starring Jodie Foster and Mark Harmon. Never heard of it? Nobody has so I was shocked/thrilled when I discovered it in the cabin’s collection.

It took me back to when my three best friends and I repeatedly watched it in high school, falling deeper and deeper in love with William McNamara (one of the stars) every time. And how Rachel, the evil wench, sent away for an autographed picture of Billy Boy. She then proceeded to frame and lust over it on her bed stand while I had to slog through life with my woosy Ralph Macchio poster.

When we eventually detached ourselves from the cabin and Billy Boy (just don’t tell Jamie), we hiked Baker Tank Trail in the snow and 4X4ed Boreas Pass. It was such a throwback to my former life except the views are that much more rewarding when trailing my hubby from behind. :-)

Day two, Jamie’s family arrived with the kids. I had painstakingly packed The Kitchen Sink for them. Unfortunately, Grandma only brought the drain because she somehow forgot all their winter clothes.

Because why would we need boots in a winter wonderland

Oh, and did I mention it snowed 10 inches Saturday night?

To be continued tomorrow….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, Jamie, outdoors, travel

VIVA MEXICO!!!!!!!!

August 14, 2007 By
There is probably no more obnoxious class of citizen,
taken end for end,
than the returning vacationist.
-Robert Benchley
Trip details forthcoming….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Family travel, outdoors, travel

BlogHer Babes Part II

July 31, 2007 By
Some of the best moments of my trip to BlogHer did not occur until Saturday—the day I decided to play hooky. It probably had a lot to do with my record-breaking 7.5 hours of sleep but that additional half hour of just lying in bed just may have been the highlight. Or maybe it was that I did not have even one kid using my face as a springboard.

It was tough getting out of bed but since my arrival, I had been salivating over the network of lakeside trails just adjacent to the W Lakeshore Hotel. I rented a mountain bike at The Navy Pier and headed north. My once deserted beaches and trails exploded with activity: sunbathers, swimmers, runners, cyclists and volleyball enthusiasts. Think Frogger on Wheels and you can pretty much imagine my motion.

After several miles, the crowds thinned and I reclaimed the pathway. I finally stopped at Foster Beach on a bluff called “Contemplation Point.” I kicked back for a few minutes, relishing the balm of fresh air, the army of rough waves and the sand, gradual and smooth. And, I welp, contemplated.

Really, the only downside was battling the swirling wind whose severity came as a surprise to me. Later, I had an epiphany as I shopped at the Navy Pier and observed the onslaught of souvenirs that boasted the mantra: Chicago—The Windy City.


Evidently I am not the first person to notice.

That afternoon, I met my roommates at the Imax to take in a very large, very 3-D Harry Potter.

(Me, Melina, Meg and Melissa)

We fully anticipate this will start a major fashion trend.

That night, it was off to BlogHer’s final extravaganza at The Children’s Museum. I was admittedly hesitant to attend. Though I have certainly never been characterized as shy (think Frogger on Sugar), interacting with such a large number of women was both exhausting and overwhelming.

I had a good number of both engaging and banal conversations and then stalked the conference’s closing speaker, Elizabeth Edwards. I would have approached her but 1) I had skipped her speech in order to watch the obtuse My Super Ex-Girlfriend on HBO and 2) This Canuck’s vote (or lack thereof) is useless to her. Besides, it was much more fun to play paparazzo.

I also reconnected with my favorite cohorts: Liz, the two Shannons, Lisa and Kristy. We chatted for a couple hours and experimented with how many Mommy Bloggers we would could cram into the photo booth (only four). Kristy was unfortunate to get behind The Big Haired Lady. Pictures will be forthcoming. Well, not of Kristy. Sorry, babe.

We grabbed a bite to eat (actually several bites but who was counting), and watched the fireworks on the pier. And then we grabbed more bites with my first official introduction to fried dough and wandered the pier marveling at the energy and pulse of that great city. And we ate. Or did I already mention that?

Photo: Lisa, Me, Dana, Shannon and Lovely Liz


The next day, I was welcomed home by a loving husband, eager children and a clean house. The latter element would have been accepted without suspicion if Jamie had refrained from announcing, “We kept it this clean all weekend. Really.”

And then he gave Hadley that knowing glance. The one that says, “Keep your mouth shut if you ever want to watch Dora the Explorer ever again.”

Evidently, What Happens in Denver, Stays in Denver.

Though the same could be said for Chicago….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Humor, outdoors, travel Tagged With:

Happy Birthday, Bubby!

July 18, 2007 By

Dearest Bode,

From the moment you were born, you have held a special place in my heart. I don’t know if it is because we are both second children or that you are a joyful, sweet and cuddly little guy who has your father’s good-natured personality whilst your spitfire sister has mine. Pray for her, Bode.

Unlike your gregarious sister, you are shy and cautious but you light up whenever Mommy enters the room and when you play with balls. Your first and only word is “Mama.” Actually, it is more along the lines of “MAMAMAMAMAMAMA.”

Mommy is still trying to teach you to stop at two syllables because by the 10th repetition, it constitutes whining. And no one likes a Mama’s Boy. Welp, except for Mama.

Your obsession and aptitude for throwing balls began at seven months when you came to life as Daddy tossed that first piece of synthetic leather your way. Instinctively, you clutched it lovingly and with an arm befitting of Joe Montana, you chucked it back. Hard. Your father’s eyes lit up with do$$ar signs because his 401K is kind of lacking and he has great hopes you will someday support us through professional sports.

For the first few months of your life, we doubted you had eyes because all you did was sleep. But then remember when you were three months old and decided for the next five months you should pull back-to-back all-nighters? That sure was fun. I strongly suspect your insomniac sister had something to do with it. I am sure she will make the same case for promoting general toddler deviance when you get a bit older.

You are in the 50th percentile for height and weight and are right on target with your development. You sat up at five months, waved at seven, crawled at eight and walked at ten. During your six-month checkup with the pediatrician, she looked into your little ears and after struggling for several minutes she announced you had the hairiest ears she had ever seen. Imagine that! Being at the top of the charts for ear hair growth! I could not have been more proud.
When you were in my womb, there was something sharp that frequently jabbed me. I thought it was a foot but I was mistaken. You see, my dear son, some children are born with a silver spoon but you were born with a remote control in hand. I have never seen a person (besides your father) light up from the moment that power button is pressed.

One of my favorite TV memories of you is when we first put you in your walker. Your wobbly legs were sluggish until one day you were in the kitchen and I turned on Dora the Explorer in the next room. A light bulb turned on and son, you sprinted to that television. It was a modern-day miracle. I attribute Dora to helping you learn to walk so soon. That, and trying to keep up with/run away from your sister.

Until recently, my favorite memory of you was when you, Daddy and I stayed at the Ritz Carlton and we hung out together at Half Moon Bay. But that experience has been trumped.

Just last week, sweet Haddie spent the day at Grandma’s so you and I hit the trail. You obediently fell asleep a few minutes into the hike and awoke just before we summited. I took you out of the pack and we snuggled and snacked. For the first time, you figured out how to drink from the tube on Mommy’s CamelBak. And so there we sat: laughing, playing in the dirt, swapping spit and grunting.

It could not have been better if I had been a guy. Thank you for being my little one.
Love,

MAMAMAMAMAMAMA
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Bode, Family travel, Humor, outdoors

High on a Mountain Top Part II

July 17, 2007 By

Just tuning in? Be sure to first read High On a Mountain Top Part I that details one of my best days ever in the mountains.

When waxing ambitious with something that is physically challenging, it is best to confirm the facts. I.e. Is the bike ride from Frisco to Breckenridge really 20 miles? Just how steep is it? What did those kids eat for dinner that made them each add 10 pounds to the load?

We did not do our homework, nor did we put Haddie and Bode on a crash diet. To be honest, I was not worried because for once, I was thrilled to not be the one hauling them in the bike trailer (loving, empathetic wife that I am).

Something we did not calculate into our ride was the distance from the condo to the trailhead: a meager 2 miles. Now, 2 miles X 2 (round-trip) may not seem like a big deal. But tack those 4 miles onto 20 miles and guess what?

It is.

To be honest, I had an easy time on the moderate ascent. But when pulling that 65-pound trailer, no terrain is moderate. Poor Jamie toughed it out but by the time we arrived in Breckenridge 1.5 hours later, his knees were writhing in pain.

We dumped the bikes and strolled around Breck, playing with the kids at Riverside Park and coveting the sweet gourmet aromas of surrounding restaurants. We ultimately grabbed some food from a little deli and settled down beside the Blue River, listening to the sweet melodies of the Colorado Symphony as they practiced in the adjacent tent. With the fresh air, bubbling waters and the granite cliffs that stood sentry over us, everything just seemed right.

Until our descent.

Now, by the very connotation of the word, one would think this would be an effortless process of simply coasting down the mountainside with the wind at our backs. The problem was, there was wind but it was at our backs, our fronts, our sides, everywhere, turning that 65-pound trailer into a veritable parachute.

Again, I was rather unaffected but I took one look at Jamie after a few miles and knew he had reached his limit.

“Do you need to switch?”

“Yeah,” he said, wincing in pain.

“No problem, I feel strong!”

Famous last words, ones will probably be on my tombstone.

Jamie did not want the cumbersome task of switching the trailer over to my bike so presented me with his. Now, I don’t know if you have ever seen the height difference between the two of us but the man has about nine inches on me. And he had conveniently forgotten his tools to lower the seat.

I won’t expound upon the visual of me teetering on my tiptoes as I hyper-extended my legs, nearly canning myself on the frame with every rotation. Oh wait. I guess I just did. After about 15 minutes of this, my legs (and other undisclosed body parts) were in pain. I announced we had to switch the trailer so I could pull it on my bike. Fine.

Problem was I made the annunciation at the base of a monster hill, just the kind of place where you would want to gain some momentum prior to tackling it. If you were lacking in ambition, that is.

The kids and I set out on the climb cold turkey. Within a few minutes, Jamie’s knees gave out and he resorted to walking his bike up the hill. He was several yards ahead as my little engine slooooowly chugged along. I joked that he would probably still beat me.

He did.

And it did not get better. Bottom line, we survived but won’t be tackling 24-mile trips with the kids anytime soon in this lifetime.

Unless, that is, I feel strong. And you know where that mantra will get me.


P.S. Happy 40th Birthday birthday to my friend Tina! Oh, and that tombstone? No correlation whatsoever….
XOXXOX
-CBC

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, Jamie, outdoors
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