Guess I Overslept or Something

Showing up here every month or two with nothing much to say was never my intention. I'll need to fix that. So listen, I'll do my best to show up here far more frequently. In return - assuming you show up, too - you'll kind of overlook the fact that I still have nothing much to say. It can be one of those secrets we both know and dare not admit to each other beyond the awkward honesty of direct eye-contact. Deal?

Where were we? Right, Disney stuff.

 
So we went there and it was great fun. August in Florida means hot weather, and we had lots of it.And where there is hot, humid weather there is oftem thunderstorms, and we had lots of those, too. But the weather did not get in our way in the least. In fact, it served to chase off the more fragile tourists and, on one occasion, left us with an entire waterpark to ourselves. That was a fun evening once I got rid of the my Omega Man vibe.

It was a quick trip for sure - arrived on a Tuesday and home on the following Sunday. The weirdest part was leaving my daughter behind (sucks to grow up and hold a job, eh?). We struggled a bit without the more-perfect symmetry of having a foursome at the House of Mouse. Things just didn't fit right sometimes - rides and attractions aren't built for odd-numbered parties.

As for the big day - my wife's birthday - it seemed to be everything she hoped for. She got her rope-drop birthday button at EPCOT and was wished 'Happy Birthday' more times than we could count. She got to join forces with Agent P to solve a theme-park mystery. After a sprint and a soaking under a Florida downpour, we had a lovely lunch at Teppan Edo where I made sure the staff acknowledged her birthday with just the right amount of embarrassment. Many giraffes posed for pictures just off the balcony of our hotel room. And she got to finish off her day in a plummeting elevator.

What else could one ask for, eh?

Spontaneously Cautious

I'd like to think I'm capable of being spontaneous. But with the possible exception of going out for ice cream at a moment's notice, I'm not really wired that way. I see every angle of every situation, every pro and every con, and I tend to take my own sweet time to reach a conclusion. While that approach may work well in my chosen IT Guy career, it frustrates my poor wife who just wants to know whether chicken would be okay for dinner tomorrow night.

Maybe there's hope for me, yet. I'm going to DisneyWorld next week. Little more than a week ago, I wasn't. So in the past 10 days, I've planned things, booked flights, arranged hotels, BEEN SPONTANEOUS! - all under a light sheen of perspiration that betrays my true nature.

You see, my wife's birthday is next week and it's a milestone (not saying it's 50). Like me, she never makes a big deal over birthdays. But this year, for this milestone, she wanted to do something special and take a little trip to mark the occasion. So we looked at all kinds of ideas (she really wanted to hike the Grand Canyon), but nothing was working out very well.

But she had a (sort of) secret thought about being at DisneyWorld on her birthday. Really, I think she wants the damn birthday button. Now we've given a fair chunk of our time and money to Disney over the years and we know that it's not a cheap vacation. But some heretofore unknown planets seemed to align in the past week and, on a whim, I checked things out. Disney was having a sale on rooms and there were good deals on flights to be had.

With a few clicks of the mouse and a liberal spreading of credit card numbers, we're booked. My wife will have her birthday celebration with Mickey, and I get the naughty satisfaction of doing something spontaneous.

All this new-found free spirit living aside, I'm still not sure about chicken for dinner tomorrow night.

I Hate Indoor Plumbing

After spending several days at the in-law's cottage a few weeks ago - days spent rebuilding a deck and having no luck getting a water pump to work - we're going back for a spur-of-the-moment long-weekend.

My theory is that it's not safe to sneak up on the cottage like this. Big jobs (even bigger than deck repair) that were out-of-the-question for lack of strong backs, suddenly head to the top of the To Do List when a few more able bodies show up at the docks.

On the plus side, the weather There will be better than the weather Here, so it's conceivable that I'll get a few minutes to sit on that freshly-repaired deck with Book, Beer, and Snack. And if I really luck out, I may use the next three days to plough through six or seven pages of Infinite Jest.

Dare to dream.

Last Bay on Your Left

Tomorrow starts the ritual I've observed for almost 25 years now: the annual sojourn to my in-law's cottage. I've written about the place before (type 'cottage' in the Search field up top), so I don't need to do it again. This isn't about that. It's about the mindset connected with being in an isolated place with too much time to think and read. Here's how things will go:

• It will take a day or two to slow myself down to cottage speed. In the meantime I'll be heroin-jonesing for an Internet connection and wondering why, oh, why I'm too cheap-ass to get a smartphone.
• I will wonder why I didn't bring a laptop since I'd have LOTS of time to write that bit of software I never find time to write. Note that I do not own a laptop nor is there any particular bit of software I'm longing to write these days.
• It will suddenly make perfect sense to damn the torpedoes and empty the bank account for a trip to Machu Pichu - if only I had an Internet connection to make the arrangements.
• I will read a lot. Instead of breakfast-time newspaper, I will read a Wired magazine.
• I will discover a burning need to try my hand at writing a short story, start a really great podcast, or address some other creative itch. I will also discover that the intensity of my itch is inversely proportional to my proximity to paved roads and wifi.
• I will be silently thankful that I don't have to be the 'banker' during evening Rummoli. We go broke a lot during that game.
• Showering every other day will be a-okay.
• A sort of Stockholm Syndrome will take hold a day or two before we have to leave the cottage. That feeling will evaporate with my car's A/C kissing my skin.
• On the trip home we will stop for a meal somewhere along highway 400 and it will feel like an oasis.

It's the same every year. Oddly, being cut-off from the world (a little bit) seems to charge my batteries even as I chafe against it all. So, I'll see you all in a week - maybe with something to show for the trouble, but probably not.

Skin Deep

The Caribbean highlight reel continues: At the island of St. Thomas, we decided we should try a little open-water snorkeling, which is a tourist staple, of course. The idea here is that you pays your money and you get ferried a few miles out to sea where your (hopefully) expert Captain outfits you with fins, a mask, a snorkel, and a lifetime of experience before throwing you overboard to meet some fish.

As often happens in my family, there was disagreement in selecting an appropriate excursion - the majority of these involving a leisurely half-day on a catamaran with complimentary rum and sunburns. This is where my wife and daughter wanted to spend their time. My son and I felt the need for speed and were more interested in the Captain Nautica rock'n'roll powerboat snorkeling excursion.

So, we split up for the day - the ladies reclining on their catamaran while the The Boy and I signed on to Captain Nautica's crew. In the end, I think my son and I made the better decision. We started early in the morning and, since we were taking a very fast powerboat, we were able to make the 18-mile journey to Turtle Bay, Buck Island long before any other snorklers. As a result, we had some ocean and Green Sea Turtles all to ourselves.

 

 

 

Our boat disgorging snorklers (The Boy is furthest on the left).

 

Swimming over some curious turtles.

Curiouser yet.

The Boy, his turtle friend, and a bad re-enactment of 'Free Willy'.

After 45 minutes or so in the water with these creatures, we dragged ourselves back into the boat to make a second stop on the opposite side of Buck Island where there was a sheltered bay. There we attracted various smaler fish with bits of melon rind, saw a shipwreck, and even got Barry the Barracuda to pose for pictures.

The Boy summons his horde.

Gliding over a shipwreck.

Clever Barry waits under the hull of our boat.

In contrast, the ladies barely saw just one turtle and only got to snorkel in one location. That said, they got all the rum they could drink. And that ain't bad.

Sell You Pictures, I Can

You need to read the title above in your very best Yoda voice. Practice it a few times before you read any further. Be patient - this will all make sense in a moment or two.

So I've been away, chasing warmer breezes somewhere south with my family. We spent a few days at DisneyWorld and then floated towards a Caribbean New Year's Eve on the Disney Magic. In the past, I would have written a post for each day of such a journey, but not this time. I think we're going to go with a highlight reel - in no particular order - of things done and seen that might be half-ways interesting.

Let's start on the island of St. Maarten. Like pretty much every Caribbean island, St. Maarten caters to the cruise crowd's affinity for shopping. And that means a shopping district just steps away from the gangplank where vitamin-D deprived North Americans and Europeans can pick up high-end jewellery on the cheap. I don't why this is or how it started, but I'm talking about entire streets where jewellery stores stand shoulder to shoulder, selling diamonds and gold at prices that are (apparently) very reasonable.

I'm not a shopper, let alone a shopper interested in jewellery, but after we had finished our family trek down a rainforest trail that morning, my son and I dutifully followed my wife and daughter down such a shopping street. While the ladies poked around in store after store, us menfolk simply shifted our butts from one shady bench to the next, passing the time by sweating and looking for free wifi.

Positive that there was nothing on that street that spoke to our manly interests, we spied something very much out of context:

This picture is stolen from the Web. It's better than the one I took!

We found Yoda Guy. On a Caribbean island, in a shopping oasis full of diamonds and gold, we found Yoda Guy. Perplexed and slightly dizzy from the heat, we had to check out this Yoda Guy.

You can read Yoda Guy's story here, but the short version is this: Nick Maley was part of the creative crew that built the Yoda puppets for the Star Wars movies. At some point in his career as a movie artist, he, along with his wife Gloria, ended up on the island of St. Maarten. There they run Planet Paradise, selling movie memorabilia and Maley's artwork, along with running a movie museum in the same building.

My family and I had to check this out, of course. We're geeks. Walking in the front door, we found a winding staircase lined with photos and explanations of Maley's movie work - mostly Star Wars related stuff. At each step leading up to their store, we grew a little more excited at the prospect of maybe, just maybe, taking home a little piece of Star Wars and maybe, just maybe, hearing a really juicy Carrie Fisher anecdote from Yoda Guy. See what I mean:

Just inside the front door.

Further front door clarifications.

I cannot disagree with this.

Up the final flight of stairs towards the gallery.

It was at the top of the stairs that things got weird(er) and any visual evidence got lost. We first encountered a full Stormtrooper costume in a glass display case. There was a sign on the case that read something like this:

If you'd like to have your picture taken with the Stormtrooper, 
we'd be happy to open the case for $7.

Unsettling, we thought. Were they really charging a fee for a picture with this costume? And how did they arrive at $7? Why not $5. Or maybe $10?

Further down the hallway we entered the store proper. It was more or less a small art gallery with a display case in the center of the room and a sales counter in the corner. In that display case was a life-sized statue of Yoda and, again, we encountered a helpful sign:

Photography is reserved for Customers!

I put my camera away at this point. I got the fact that cameras in an art gallery might not be a good thing, but the sign added to my 'unsettled' feeling about the place. From the counter behind us there was a "Welcome" from Gloria Maley. Friendly enough, she launched into a pitch that I'm sure she has given hundreds of times. The upshot was this: there was all kinds of stuff for sale in the store and the price was not carved in stone. Since we were tourists from a cruise ship, we could get an additional discount. Now, if we spent $39 or more as a family, we could go into the museum for free. If we didn't spend $39 or more, we could still make a $15 'donation' and go through the museum anyways.

The word 'donation' seemed interesting, so I asked her about it. Their goal, said Gloria, was to raise enough money to be able to buy the building next door and turn it into a re-creation of the Mos Eisley cantina from Star Wars. It was unclear to me what they would do with a cantina, although I supposed it would involve a fee. I just chuckled and assured Gloria that theirs was a noble goal.

Free to peruse Planet Paradise, here's what I noticed:

• We were the only people in the store
• From what I could see, the memorabilia amounted to framed, photocopied pages out of a Star Wars script, autographed by Nick
• There were the odd bits of Star Wars trading cards and comic books
• There were pencil drawings of Tauntauns and the like, all done by Nick
• There were some pieces of original art done by Nick, all Caribbean themed
• Nothing had a price tag that I could see
• The museum entrance was a rather dark doorway off the side of the store, which suggested that the museum was likely quite smallish
• Pictures from inside the museum suggested it was pretty much a collection of costumes from Star Wars and a number of other movies

It wasn't too long - like 45 seconds or so - before Han Solo's words were in my head, "I've got a bad feeling about this." There seemed to be no actual memorabilia to be had - at least none that interested me. The vibe in the place felt a little bit grasping. I realize that people need to make a living, but the requests for money felt a little icky (although I'm open to better words here).

I decided that we needed to leave (nothing to see, move along...). Being the only people in the store, and under the watchful eye of Gloria, we would need to use a subtle bit of shuffling towards the door before making our break for daylight. But there was a problem. My kids were on the other side of the gallery and, as I strolled over to whisper a few words to them, Yoda Guy himself emerged from the back room.

Now, I found Nick to be a very nice chap, but his first few words after "Hello" were basically a repeat of the instructions we had just received from Gloria. When I mentioned the fund-raising plans for the next-door cantina, Nick chuckled a bit and called the whole thing 'his folly'. I searched my brain for a Star Wars question to fill the oncoming conversational void, but Nick had already wandered off to confer with Gloria. It was our opening! The four of us quickly, but coolly, made our way back down the stairs and out the door.

I admit feeling a a bit disappointed with myself afterwards, like maybe I should have bought a little something. Nick and Gloria Maley seemed like nice-enough people trying to make a living for themselves on a lovely little island. Maybe I shouldn't have been so turned-off by the fact they were so very up-front about 'money for something'. But in the end, it was all very off-putting. I wish them well and I hope they build their cantina someday (all without a visit from a LucasArts lawyer). And if "Nick's folly" ever becomes reality, I'd like to pay a visit and hear that juicy Carrie Fisher story over a cold mug of Jawa Beer.

A Haunting in Ottawa

Ed. Note: I warned you all there would be more.

If anyone ever tells you that Ottawa, Ontario, Canada - our Nation's Capital - has a night life, they are either liars or their idea of 'night life' is vomiting outside the faux-Irish pubs in the Byward Market. Rest assured, Ottawa's sidewalks really do roll up once the Peace Tower clock strikes 6pm.

So there we were - myself, my wife, and my youngest kid - in Ottawa on a July evening wondering what we could do to pass the time once the Sun disappeared. By chance, I spied a brochure in our hotel's lobby that provided the answer: Ghost Walk!

For the timid and the uninitiated, a Ghost Walk is a basically an escorted night-time walking tour through an old neighbourhood. Along the way, your escort (typically clad in a black cape and carrying a candle-lantern) will stop from time to time to act out a spooky tale ripped from the pages of the town's history. I've noticed these things popping up in many old Canadian cities: Ottawa, Quebec City, Halifax, Kingston - even here in my sleepy London, Ontario environs.

I'd actually done one of these Walks several years ago in Quebec City with my oldest kid in tow. It was a foggy night in one Canada's oldest towns and we had a blast (that's another story), so I figured that shuffling down the dark alleys of our Nation's Capital should be good for a fright or two (beyond seeing one of those Byward Market dandies hurling up their Guinness).

I made the necessary reservations for our chosen evening with Haunted Walks. It turned out they were offering 2 different tours: one that was a standard walking tour and one called 'Ghosts and the Gallows' that would concentrate more on Death Row in the historical Old Carleton County Jail. The decision to take the Gallows tour was easy - it had a disclaimer that it was not suitable for young children. That said to us that the joint would be full of ghosts!

Because luck is always on our side, the horrific rainstorm that swept through Ottawa that day blew itself out early enough that our Gallows tour was still a go. We met our guide, Maura, at the appointed place shortly before 9pm. While there were literally dozens of people who'd shown up for their Ghost Walk, it turned out that they were all there for the 'standard' Walk - creampuffs all. In contrast, the Gallows tour would only include 7 brave souls, including ourselves. Luckier yet, 4 of those souls (another family) ended up cancelling at the last minute (creampuffs perhaps?), so Maura would be giving the Crazylegs-Clan-Minus-One a private tour!

During our short jouney from the shadow of the Parliament Buildings to the Carleton Jail, Maura stopped a few times to spin a spooky story. While she gave it her all, it was a little bit of an odd experience. Number one, she was performing for an audience of 3, and I felt the weight of responsibility to 'ooh' and 'ahh' with a little extra gusto. Number 2, for all of its age and significance, Ottawa has a lot of modern buildings and they just don't provide the right atmosphere (compared to someplace like Quebec City).

Maura leads the way to the Other Side.

Awkwardness aside, walking up to the big doors of the Carleton Jail provided ample atmosphere and the promise of spooks inside. By reputation, the Jail is supposed to be one of the most haunted buildings in North America. I'm guessing there are many old buildings with the same designation, however. While the Jail actually serves as a youth hostel these days, the upper floor containing the jails has been preserved as-is and is off-limits to guests according to some rather impressive padlocks.

Up the stairs we went, where Maura produced a ring of keys to let us into the off-limits jails. Our first stop was the jail cells, where Maura would relay a number of ghost stories - many of them involving Hostel guests attempting to spend the night in the cells and losing their nerve before dawn. The best story - and I hope it's true - involves a few German guests who, upon complaining to Hostel attendant about the lack of ghostly goings-on, were treated to a coin mysteriously levitating in front of their eyes for a solid 5 minutes before falling to the floor.

Inside the Carleton Jail front doors...

...and up the dimly-lit back stairs.

The first thing that struck me about the jails, besides the obvious fact that they are extremely cramped, was the silence. With the 4 of us standing at the end of the cell block, the silence seemed like it should be anything but silent. It was the kind of hissing silence that played tricks on your ears and made you think you heard the whispers of the poor bastards that might have called the place 'home' for awhile. 

Maura left us alone for a moment while she went to unlock the doors that would later take us to Death Row. We tried to take a few touristy pictures inside the cells, but the lighting was too dim for the camera to properly focus. After a few nervous giggles about our photographic skills, Maura called us to come through the door. I lingered behind for a few moments longer, running my camcorder with an embarrassed hope that maybe I'd capture something from the Other Side - just like on the ridiculous 'ghost hunting' shows that populate the 3-digit channels on my TV. I will admit that the hairs on the back of my neck did stand on end and I was quick to re-join our little band of ghostbusters down the hall.

Alone in the cells awaiting my Casper encounter.

Death Row is a handful of cells apart from the main cellblock and separated at one time by a set of 2 heavy iron doors. I say 'at one time' because the doors have since been removed by Hostel staff. The story goes that the doors were notorious for slamming shut on their own, often with people dangerously close to being hurt. The final straw came when a Ghost Walk escort had her finger crushed in the doors, which prompted the doors to be removed. Adjacent to Death Row is a plain wooden door that hides what is today a storage room but, back in the day, was where the executioner would emerge when the Gallows were in use. Maura told stories of mysterious noises - talking, thudding, etc. - eminating from the behind the doors. We heard nothing, of course.

Death Row!

The executioner's door.

Having seen the cells, we made our way to the Gallows. I'm not sure what I expected, but the Gallows are easy to miss. It is basically a closet-sized room tacked onto the side of the building. There is a noose, a lever, and a trapdoor that opens 3 stories above terra firma. Maura's story at this stop involved the hanging of a fellow who protested his innosence and spoke a curse to the ground below his noose. According to Maura, there are dozens of instances of Walk guests who, when standing on the ground below the Gallows, have endured spontaneous nose-bleeds - not quite a pox on their houses, but a curse nonetheless. In case anyone is wondering, we had no such affliction. 

As a post-script to the Gallows, Maura pointed out a more informal gallows in the same stairwell, where it is thought (but not proven) that the old-time jail guards may have carried out their own sentences out of sight of the offical Gallows. We were told that, sometimes, Walk guests get an irrationally uneasy feeling when passing this way.

The Gallows awaits another deserving crimnal.

A more informal place to string a rope.

By 10:30pm we had seen what Maura wanted us to see and followed her back to the Byward Market, which Haunted Walks' office calls home. Predictably, they have a small gift shop and, predictably, my son bought a book. We bid our good-byes and thanks, and picked our way through the street people and the tipsy revellers that populated the streets between Maura and our hotel.

As a post-script to the story, I was quick to inspect my video footage on our return home to London a few days later. While my rational brain knew there would be no extraordinary audio whispers or unexplained balls of light chasing through the cells, my more imaginative grey matter hoped otherwise. Alas, there was nothing, not even a technicolour puddle of Guinness for shock value.

30 Days of Fallout

Ed. Note: My family and I recently spent a few days on mini-vacation in our nation's capital of Ottawa. What lies below is a shameless exploitation of that trip - largely intended to fill space here for a few posts. This is the lowest form of blogging, of course: the sharing of vacation stories and pictures. You've been warned, etc.

If Ottawa is the town that fun forgot, then Carp, Ontario is the town that history (almost) forgot. Nestled outside Ottawa's city limits sits the unfortunately-named Carp, and outside Carp's boundaries, in the guts of what was once a gravel quarry, sits a remarkable piece of Canadiana lovingly called The Deifenbunker.

The Internet can provide you with all all sorts of facts and figures about this love-letter to the Cold War, but the Deifenbunker's salient facts are these: At the height of the Cold War, Canada's Prime Minister, John Deifenbaker, commissioned a nuclear fallout shelter to be built at CFS Carp near the nation's captial (other, smaller facilities were built across Canada). Dubbed 'The Deifenbunker', the Carp facility was built to withstand a near-miss nuclear explosion and safely house 500+ staff (including the government of the day) for a period of 30 days. It was (wrongly) believed that 30 days would provide sufficient time for the threat of nuclear fallout to dissipate to safe levels, allowing the bunker's occupants to emerge into a Brave, New World.

Operating for decades with an average contingent of 200 staff, the bunker was decommissioned as an active military base in 1994. By 1995 (or thereabouts) it re-opened its doors as a not-for-profit museum dedicated to the history of the Cold War. And in July 2011, with my wife and son in tow, I took a trip through the blast doors into the dimly-lit tunnel where 1963 would be waiting.

The entrance to the place is noteworthy insofar as a heli-pad might be noteworthy. Beyond this piece of tarmac, there sits a modest garage building large enough for a single truck to park inside and unload without prying eyes watching from the outside. But once inside that garage, things get ominous. Behind a large double-door lies the blast-tunnel - the only way in and out of the facility. And at the end of the tunnel sits the heavy metal doors that mark the portal back to a time when 'duck and cover' was a familiar phrase.

A chain-link fence and a heli-pad?

A non-descript garage, or is it?

Into the blast tunnel!

And down we go...

Through the blast doors we entered what could have been any circa-1963 government building - hallways painted in neutral colours, function--but-boring furniture, signage that meant nothng to the unbureaucratic mind. The only hints that something else was going on was the lack of windows and the unavoidable showers that awaited all who stepped through the blast doors.

Once inside, the Deifenbunker is a essentially a small town built as a 4-level office building underground. There's a fully functional hospital, communications rooms, meeting rooms, offices, personal quarters - all designed to keep government running and all vaguely based on the lessons of submarine layouts. Every piece of furniture, every piece of equipment, every well-labelled room - functional, non-personal. The place spoke in steady, measured tones that it had a purpose and that purpose would be met.

Everything non-descript.

The hospital could handle any medical need except heart or brain surgery.

The 'war room' keeping time where time passes quietly.

The Prime Minister's office (never used, of course).

There were a few features that I did not expect to see (and yet made abundant sense when I saw them). The cafeteria and common room was specifically designed to help ease the stress of the 24x7 rotating shifts within the Bunker. The walls have a bit of colour. There are tables and chairs for playing cards, etc. A billiard table sits near a small library. And on one wall is a photo-mural of some generic Rocky Mountain vista - intended as a reminder to everyone in the room what they were working to preserve.

Canada's own CBC Radio has a small studio 'down there' - intended as a conduit between the government-in-hiding and whoever was left on the surface (provided they still had radios). The final oddity; down at the lowest levels of the Bunker sits a Bank of Canada vault where, presumably, a little bit of seed money would be stored to keep the country financially solvent.

There's more to see down there, of course. And I was surprised at how freely one could roam the lonely hallways on all 4 levels. While guided tours are free and available in both official languages, one can also simply grab a map and audio guide and poke around at a personal pace. Oddly, the Bunker offers children's birthday packages and even runs a Summer day-camp.

So if you ever find yourself rolling through Carp, Ontario and feel the ground start to rumble while mushroom clouds lazily rise into the heavens, you'll know where to go.

SWS Day 8 - Happy Trails!

Tuesday, August 31, 2010 - Like the kids said, now it's time to say Good-Bye. As directed by our Guides, the luggage was outside the door before 8am so that the Disney Elves could whisk it away once more. After one last gorgeous RCL breakfast-by-the-River, the Group shuffled onto Dan's coach for the 9am call-time. Next came a few words of 'safe journey' from RCL's General Manager, and then we were rolling down scenic highway 128 enroute to Grand Junction, Colorado - just across the Utah/Colorado border. It was there that we'd catch our flights back to our normal, non-cowboy lives.

As always, the scenery was outstanding as rocky cliffs gave way to rolling hills where one could possibly play whack-a-mole with the dozens of Prarie Dogs that always seemed to be watching the traffic roll by. A scant 90 minutes later, we were at the (very small) airport saying our good-byes to our new/old ABD friends. Two of the families had flights leaving within the hour. For the rest of us (including our Guides), we had a solid 4 hours to kill before taking to the skies.

We had considered taking a shuttle bus into the town of Grand Junction for a look-see, but the bus schedules were not very convenient and we'd have spent more time waiting around than we would have spent poking around. Instead, we all built a nest of sorts in the airport 'lounge' to pass the time together. Without exaggeration, I can say we all had a great time sharing stories, laughing a lot, and just acting like old friends. The time flew by, but it was going to be that much harder to say final farewells, I thought.

With the exception of Guide Mike (headed to Florida), we were all booked on the same connector that would take us to Salt Lake City as a jumping off point to lands beyond. So it was there, in the bosom of Donny Osmond country, that we would say our final good-byes as Guide Chris headed to the West coast, the Other Family headed to the East coast, and my family headed for Detroit. It was hard not to get a little choked up.

We had very little time in Salt Lake - just enough to grab sandwiches for our 3.5 hour flight to Detroit. From there, we had another 2.5 hours or so before we'd see London, Ontario through our van's windshield. In between was a border crossing that would be less than uneventful (thankfully!). And if I had any doubts that our vacation adventure was truly over, nothing says 'welcome home' like dragging the trash to the curb at 2:30am.

In the following days and weeks (and months!), it was the usual vicarious thrill of organizaing hundreds of pictures, editting hours of video, and mustering the trip report muse - all for the chance to relive those wonderful Southwest Splendor days. It's mid-November right now, and I can scarcely believe it's been 2.5 months since we saw that sliver of Old West.

Oh what I wouldn't give for some dry heat right about now...

SWS Day 7 - Gather 'Round the Campfire

Monday, August 30, 2010 - Another magnificent RCL breakfast experience and another half-day of free-time to channel our inner cowpokes. The morning would be spent on horseback - surveying the scenery in the environs of Red Cliffs Lodge. We headed over to the RCL stables around 8:30am and found a few familar ABD faces mixed in with the faces of other RCL guests. In total, we were a posse of 16 Guests and 3 Guides.

After signing the obligatory if-you-die-no-one-gets-sued waivers, we were each issued a saddlebag to hold our water bottles and cameras while on the trail. Those who wanted one were free to select a helmet, also. One of our Guides (Jill) used some mystical combination of the rider's size and temperment to match each person to a specific horse. In all, the entire process took (maybe) 20 minutes to complete.

Once everyone was mounted up, we all received a quick lesson on how to ride a trail horse. It's at this point where I should come clean: my expectations for the morning were pretty low. First off, my experience with trail horses was such that I fully expected to fall asleep somewhere on the trail. Secondly, my kids both ride horses regularly - one of my brats being a competition show-jumper. So my fear was that they would not have a thrilling experience on the RCL 'back forty'. Remember this.

Off we went, single file, down the trail that these horses knew so very well (my steed, Rebel, included). Within 10 minutes, 3 things became apparent. One, the scenery around the RCL spread was absolutely stunning to a SW Ontario boy like me. Second, the horses would require some amount of rider control. And third, the trail was actually much more challenging than I had even hoped for.

 A gentle part of the trail.

For 2 hours we followed the rocky, twisting trail. Up the hills and down the hills we went - sometimes steep and slightly thrilling, sometimes gentlly rolling. The horse knew the way, of course, but that did not prevent the occasional stumble and slip on the rocky terrain - just to keep things dangerous for teh tourists. All along the way, our Guides kept everyone safe and entertained with stories, jokes, and genuine interest in their charges.

 Cowboys and Cowgirls need to rest, too!

It was a pretty great morning, and I was sad to find the creek we were following (in the water, that is) would lead us back to the stables. We brought our horses into the corral where the Guides instructed (and assisted) everyone in the delicate dance that is 'dismounting a horse'. I bid so long to Jill (slyly palming her a tip) and we shuffled back to our room to clean up before heading to the RCL BBQ area for lunch.

The afternoon took us back onto the ABD agenda: rafting on the Colorado River! Dan and his coach drove us all down to the put-in spot up-river from RCL. There we were met by our rafting Guides who helped us all find the proper sized life-jacket (no helmets needed that day). We split our small group between 2 large rafts - each with one ABD Guide and one rafting Guide.

Being late in the season, that stretch of the Colorado was pretty shallow and devoid of white-water (late Spring/early Summer are better times). That, coupled with very strong headwinds, meant we would all be doing a lot of paddling through the afternoon. Lest anyone feel sorry for the likes of me, our rafting Guide (Malaya) had the hardest job of all: manning 2 long oars from a perch on the stern of our raft.

Water warfare on the mighty Colorado River.

Over the span of a few hours, we paddled a bit, rested a bit, looked at stunning vistas, and took a lot of pictures. As is rafting tradition, we tried to make life difficult for the other raft by splashing and catcalling when the opportunity arose. A few paddlers even braved the chilly water - some, like Guide Chris, even trying a backflip off the bow! But eventually the fun had to come to an end, and there was the put-out spot with towels and a coach waiting for us. It was back to the RCL - and time enough to prepare for the evening's ABD Farewell Dinner.

White-water?

Since we had a few hours of downtime, our small ABD group had an impromptu party on one of the room's patio. We had all made purchases at the RCL Winery (in addition to wine they sell various cheeses and crackers) and so we pooled our goodies for all to enjoy. We tried to coax Guides Mike and Chris to join in the fun, but there are rules about drinking with Guests and so they had to politely (and reluctantly) decline to join our party. Nevertheless, we all had a great time (the wine didn't hurt) chatting, laughing, and watching the kids do the same.

Come 7pm, we all filtered over to the Dinner being held in the main lodge. There was a buffet of sorts, with steaks cooked to order for each Guest. The laughter continued (as did the wine) as we sat down at the long table that had been prepared for us. We even had old-tyme country music supplied by the RCL owner's son, Devon Dixon, and his guitar!

 Kids eat first in the Old West, I guess.

After dinner (and a few speeches), we all moved to the adjacent banquet room where a screen and projector had been setup. At our Guides' urging, each family shared a few personal thoughts about the trip we shared. It was a remarkably poignant time for some of us. We were a small group and had gotten to know each other pretty well because of that. And for some people in our group, the trip had been a once-in-a-lifetime (or maybe first-in-a-lifetime) experience. Whatever the reason, it was a moment I'll not forget.

Afterwards, the obligatory 'end of tour' slideshow was played for us - with lots of "ooohs" and "ahhhs" from the audience. It was beginning to feel like the trip was over. The evening, however, was not!

We all moved outside to an awaiting campfire - complete with all the fixin's for s'mores. Also waiting was Devon (and his guitar), who seranaded us with a medley of countrified Disney songs. We ate, we sang songs, we looked at the sugary-starred night sky, and I wanted to stay there for a very long time...

 Devon Dixon in the dark.

By 10pm, the group broke up as people drifted back to their rooms for what would be serious packing for the day ahead - the day we would all go home.

SWS Day 6 - Nature's Fault

Sunday, August 29, 2010 - There are many perfect breakfast settings, and Red Cliffs Lodge on this specific morning is on that list. Sitting beside the lazy Colorado River, framed by red cliffs and quiet, warm breezes - it was a damn fine way to enjoy my family and my eggs.

Breakfast by the Colorado!

Still feeling the vibe from our early-morning breakfast, we donned our hiking boots, slathered on some sunscreen, and steeled ourselves for the impending hike to Delicate Arch. On our coach journey to Arches National Park we picked up our local guide, Preston - a born and bred Moab local with a fact and a story for every rock on the horizon and every bend in the road. I was especially rapt during his stories about the movies shot in and around the area because, in many cases, he had a personal anecdote to share (e.g. a friendship with The Duke and some horses for Indiana Jones).

After a quick stop at Balanced Rock, Dan dropped us at the Visitor's Center where our hike would begin. Those not interested in the hike stayed on the coach with Preston, who would take them on an alternate tour of numerous arches in the Park. My family, of course, was ready for walking the 1.5 miles over slick rock trails to Delicate Arch. The hike was not too strenuous and had just one section that was (sort of) steep and one other section that was (sort of) narrow. It was an altogether unwordly experience walking on the vast, flat fields of wind-polished sandstone. My inner geek kept thinking: Tatooine!

 The steep part of the trail.

 Our family portrait under Delicate Arch.

After 45 minutes of hiking (with rest stops) we closed in on the Arch - it being perched on the edge of what I can only describe as a sandstone 'bowl'. My words will not describe the scene, so I will let the pictures do it for me. Needless to say, the 30+ minutes (and bazillion photos) we spent there were not long enough. But eventually we had to make our way back down the trail to Dan, Preston, and the one family who opted for Preston's tour.

The coach drove us all into Moab for a few hours of free-time for lunch and exploring. The town is small and quiet, although it seems to do a decent business catering to the extreme sprots crowd (judging from some of the local shops). We opted for lunch at Pasta Jay's, which serve a pretty decent meatball sandwich along with cold beer. After our meal, we explored the shops a bit in search of a waterproof, disposable camera we could use later in the week (only to find that the RCL gift shop carries these, too).

 Moab caters to a certain clientele.

We met Dan at the appointed time and made our way back to Red Cliffs Lodge for our afternoon of free-time. For my family and a few other ABDers, we arranged (through RCL) for an ATV tour of the backcountry! No sooner had we cleaned up from hiking when our ATV guides, Cody and Dan, rolled up to the front door in vans pulling trailers packed with ATVs! We piled into their vans and we all drove out to Onion Creek (just down the road from RCL) where we would ride the dusty/muddy trails. At the load-out spot, we were all fitted with helmets, goggles, and gloves before being assigned our ATVs. My wife and I would be driving with each of us taking one kid on the back of our vehicle.

We received a driving lesson - starting, stopping, turning - before heading off with one guide up-front and one at the rear. An ATV is similar to driving a snowmobile. Being Canadians (eh!), we soon got the hang of things, although I will admit that my Northern Ontario spouse was a more adept driver than I. For the first half of the tour, we stuck to groomed trails with easy turns and minimal rocks to navigate. Earlier rains kept the dust at bay, which meant we could enjoy the scenery as we snaked through canyons at speeds of up to 35mph. Still, we were glad for the jeans and light shirts we wore since our trail criss-crossed through Onion Creek numerous times, whipping mud and water up our legs.

 ATVing was the coolest thing EVAR!

The halfway point meant a little rest, a little water, and a few group photos. Because our small group was able to handle the ATVs at such high speeds, our guides elected to take us down some more challenging trails for the second half of the tour. They were rocky, twisting, dusty, and bi-sected by deeper areas of the Creek. There were a few points where I scared myself (and my son riding on the back) by fishtailing too hard or cornering a little too late. But the breaktaking view around us was something alien-looking, and it distracted us from any lingering nervousness about my driving.

Along the way we spotted deer, lizards, and even Indian cliff-dwellings that were long-ago abandoned. And before we were ready for it, the tour was over. We put everything away in the vans and trailers before Cody drove us back to RCL.

We spent some time getting ourselves presentable for the evening - amazed by how much red dust one can carry on their body. Everyone was in good spirits since the evening would be the obligatory Adult Dinner/Junior Adventurer Night. At 14 (almost 15) years of age, my son was a little torn about what he would do, but the promise of pizza and the company of an ABD friend of similar age made his decision to be a Junior Adventurer a little easier. My 17 year-old daughter, of course, opted for the adult's table in the RCL dining room.
With my son off in another part of the Lodge, we met the other adults in the lounge for a few drinks before all 7 of us moved to the dining room. It was just a lovely, lovely evening with new friends - sharing stories, sharing appetizers, and laughing a lot. While the pickup time for the JAs was supposed to be 8:30pm, our dinner ran rather long and, by 9:30pm, the kids were 'released' into the dining room to collect their parents. We were slightly chagrined in our hopes that Guides Mike and Chris were not (too) upset with the parents!

The remainder of our evening was spent laundering the clothes we had made filthy by hiking and riding ATVs. We all needed clean jeans for the next day's equine activities!

SWS Day 5 - Western Monuments

Saturday, August 28, 2010 - Sometime much too close to 2am, my subconsicous - spurred on by the sound of running water - tapped my bladder on the shoulder and said, "Yo! You know what you need to do." And the only thing better than awakening to that sound at 2am is the chance to quietly repair a toilet's flapper valve - the source of that sound. At some point during someone's pre-bed ritual, the chain had disconnected from the handle, leaving the toilet in a permanent state of 'flush'. It was a simple operation, and I kind of giggled (in a totally macho way) at this weird tablaeu - late night plumbing work with the Grand Canyon looking on from just a few hundred feet away.

A few hours of shut-eye later, my wife, Dee, and I were doing our 6:30am breakfast run with our sleepy teenagers 30 minutes behind us. Nearing the end of our meal, Guide Chris shouted from the door that a few elk had been spotted outside. Cutlerly clanging, 8 of us raced out the door and slowly pursued two massive elk as they sauntered across railway tracks and into the surrounding green-spaces. While the animals were wary of our quiet camera crew, they still deigned to provide a number of photo-ops for us tourists.

 Some elk hold a debate outside Thunderbird Lodge.

Our coach left the Thunderbird Lodge by 7:30am on what would be the longest travel-day of the tour - Grand Canyon to Moab, Utah by way of Monument Valley. While a DVD played to help pass the time, the real show was outside the coach windows. The rolling hills gave way to frequent sightings of colourful buttes and mesas as we grew closer to the Utah border. At the 3-hour mark, we stopped at Goulding's Lodge, located withing the Navajo reserve that surrounds Monument Valley.

As we de-coached, we were met by Mike, a local Navajo guide who be taking us for a tour of Monument Valley. Mike's conveyance was an open-air truck (of sorts) with padded benches and clear, retractable coverings acting as protection from the clouds of red dust that dominated the landscape from time to time. We found our seats and Mike - via his PA system - narrated the short drive down the highway as we made our way into the Valley. At first I found the plastic windows a bit of a nuisance for getting a clear look at the outside scenery, but as we descended down the dusty hills into the Park it became obvious why we needed protection from the elements. Fine red clouds of dust found its way into everything: clothes, cameras, hair, etc. and etc.

 Our tour coach awaits.

Once onto the Valley floor, the winds died down and Mike began naming off Monuments left and right (the kids especially liked the Left Mitten and Right Mitten). We soon stopped at a look-out where, conveniently, local Navajo merchants had tables with local jewelry and crafts for sale. It was at this stop where Mike rolled up the plastic windows on our truck so as to afford us an unobstructed view. Back on the bus, we toured the Valley some more and stopped a second time at John Ford Point. The view was amazing and it was obvious why so many Hollywood Westerns had been filmed in the area. Again, local Navajo merchants had tables setup and this time we bought a few items (at very reasonable prices). We toured some more, making one final stop where Guide Chris had our Group yell out in unison - all to experience the unique echo qualities of the rocks surrounding us.

 Mittens, Left and Right.

Mike took us all back to Goulding's and, along the way, serenaded us with his renditions of Navajo songs. While I'm sure it was part of his normal tour itinerary, there was a poingnancy in the experience - staring out at the landscape and hearing Mike singing his songs through scratchy speakers.

Back at Goulding's, it was time for lunch and I can heartily recommend their Navajo Tacos. There were a few minutes for pictures (check out the John Wayne cutout) and gift shop exploration before we began the final 3-hour leg of the day's journey. We passed through Moab and followed the Colorado River via Highway 128 (one of America's most scenic drives) to take us to our destination: Red Cliffs Lodge.

There we were greeted by attentive and friendly Lodge staff who bid us welcome and directed us to glasses of lemonade. In no time we had room keys and directions towards the outbuildings where we would be staying. It was clear that RCL was going to be a very special place - everything you might imagine a Western horse-ranch to be and more. After a few nights at the modest Thunderbird Lodge, RCL was positively palatial: oh-so-spacious split-level rooms, kitchenette, a large patio overlooking a creek and horse pastures. This would suit us quite nicely for our 3-night stay!

 Red Cliffs Lodge main entrance.

With a hour of cleaning up behind us, we met the Group for a (very good) taco dinner in the main lodge. Guides Mike and Chris gave us instructions for the following day - a hike in Arches National Park, a few hours to explore Moab, and a free afternoon at the RCL (and more!). We broke for the night after lots of leisurely dinner conversation (and maybe some wine or beer). Many of the kids dragged their parents to the pool for a nighttime swim. Dee and I elected to do laundry (facilities also by the pool) to get rid of some of the red dust we'd accumulated. And by 11pm, laundry had been folded and lights were out...

SWS Day 4 - Grand Discovery

Ed. Note: These posts having been mighty slooooow in coming. Honestly, I've been focused on getting many hours of video edited, scored, titled, and burned (my home movies are sometimes too elaborate). Now that the film is in the can, I'm hoping to finish up these trip report posts asap!

Friday, August 27, 2010 -While the previous day entailed just a skirmish with the Grand Canyon, today would be an all-out assault! As everyone knows, an army travels on its belly, so with that in mind we hit up the breakfast buffet at 6:40am. We left the kids behind, of course, because teenagers would only slow us down. In all, it was a lovely time as we gazed out over the Canyon and swapped ABD Costa Rica stories with our Guide, Chris.

By 8am the entire Group was boarding our coach out front of Bright Angel Lodge. Joining us for the morning South Rim tour was a local National Parks guide, Robin - who I can only describe as having the vague appearence of a backwoods hermit coupled with encyclopedic Canyon knowledge and a sardonic sense of humour. Naturally, I liked the man.

As the coach made its way towards Grandview Point, Robin gave us a detailed rundown on local geography, the village of Grand Canyon, and the logisitics for the seasonal Park staff. Grandview afforded us a very different perspective on the Canyon. In addition to the elevation, the Rim is dotted with large boulders and rock columns - all perfect for unusual 'floating in air' pictures of your Loved Ones. The best/worst was a column that required the Subject to step (jump?) across a small chasm that seemed to separate the column from the Canyon Rim, itself. Once across, you are presented with a 7-foot platform of rock surrounded by, well, the Grand Canyon. My son was onboard with this photo-spot, so he and Guide Mike made the leap. My wife and daughter were totally not interested, while I eventually relented and hoped my heart would not pick this point in time to fail.

 The Boy and The Guide defy death as the

Grim Reaper (not pictured) checks his watch.

After Grandview, we travelled on to The Watchtower - an iconic (and slightly touristy) part of the South Rim affording amazing views of the Colorado River. Robin was kind enough to escort a few us around the building to point out various features of its design and the Native wall-paintings on the inside that depict the Creation Story. We all then went up top for more of Robin's lessons about the Canyon and the River. Interesting note about context: from the top of the Tower I might guess the River below to be approximately 30 feet across when, in fact, it is closer to 300 feet between shores!

 Looking inside the Watchtower at Native paintings.

By 11:30am we were back at the Lodge where we started the day's tour. Since the daily tourist train was set to arrive soon, we opted to grab a quick lunch at the nearby Maswik Lodge (cafeteria-style, but good food). I made sure to load up on the carbs because the free-time afternoon was going to involve hiking down into the Canyon!

My daughter, who has knee problems, elected to stay behind and explore the gift shops. My wife, son, and I hit the Bright Angel Trail under (thankfully) cloudy skies for a hike to the 1.5 mile rest station checkpoint. As instructed, we brought a few bottles of water for each of us and lots of salty snacks - all to ward off the surprising effects of dehydration for the 2 - 4 hour round-trip. Seriously, do not ignore the warnings about dehydration!

The trip down was a fast 45 minutes during which we descended 1,100 feet into the Canyon (it's much faster if you don't use the trail, I'm told). The trail alternated between rocky and fine sand. The scenery along the switchbacks was simply stunning, but the majesty of the Canyon was slightly dulled by the dead-eyed red faces of the hikers coming back up the trail. This is what was in store for us later in the day, I feared.

I will own this (ranked easiest part of) Bright Angel Trail!

By 2pm we had reached the rest station, where we....ummm....rested. Now was the time to screw our courage to the sticking place and face the climb back up. While I prayed my hockey-ravaged knees would withstand theclimb, my larger concern was for my son, who was obviously hot and tired. My wife was/is the strongest of us all, and I'm guessing she could likely carry us top-side on her back!

Well, we climbed and we sweated and we breathed raggedy breaths up the steady, unrelenting incline. In those areas that were steep, we found rough stairs constructed of rock and logs. We made frequent rest stops for snacks and water where we would spend our moments shooing away the greedy (and fearless) Canyon squirrels looking for handouts.

The view from the Trail.

 
But by 3:15pm we had made it to the top - all of us seemingly intact. As luck would have it, our arrival coincided with the daily 'condor talk' presented by the Park Rangers. So we spent some time learning about condors while secretly looking forward to the showers waiting for us back in our room.

We elected to have dinner at the more upscale El Tovar Lodge next door to the Thunderbird. Built in 1905, it's the one remaining log-constructed building in the area. Walking into the lobby is reminiscent of walking into DisneyWorld's Wilderness Lodge (or perhaps it's the other way around). Regardless, I was happy that my wife had made reservations the day before, because even at our 7:30pm dining time the Lounge was doing a steady business. The food and service was all very good - not the very best I'd ever experience, but still very good. What made the experience memorable for me was the feeling of being transported to another time and place. It's just something one must experience for themself, I suppose.

After 90 minutes of enjoying the El Tovar, we strolled back to our rooms where we prepared our luggage for the next morning's 6:30am pick up. This was out final chance to say good-bye to the silvery moonlit cliffs of the South Rim. Tomorrow... Utah!