A cow along the road.

The desert is abloom.

After two days of hiking in Zion, one day sacrificed to driving seemed relatively merciful. The stretch from Springdale to Las Vegas went rather well, we even found a decent sushi place on the northern edge of the city. There I got intercepted by a text message about an addition to the family of my Slovak friend — I did not know then that for the following few weeks this would be the last act my cell phone would be able and willing to perform. It refused to sent a reply with congratulations, and remained silent since.

Our journey became obnoxiously uneventful beyond Las Vegas — the local desert isn't pretty and after many hours behind the wheel in a strong cross wind, my arms were aching — the bus would sway and lurch across the pavement and keeping it there was hard work. When a huge artificial cow appeared on the horizon, we welcomed it as a suitable excuse to stop, stretch our legs and take another turn in steering.

Flowers blossomed on the eastern edge of Death Valley, providing us thus with another reason to stop. The desert flower season is very short in the spring. By Zabriskie Point, only bloomless desert stretched out into the distance. A new creek bed had been carved in the hardened dirt; this year's winter must have seen some heavy rains event in this driest place on Earth. Kids wanted to run around the view point and beyond. It was relatively hot outside, but a strong, unpleasant wind kept hitting us. The Death Valley proper remained in a haze — at least that was what it looked like. When we descended to the sea level, we discovered that the haze came from stirred-up, wind-swept fine sand. Our road reminded in places of winter adventures in mountains — only the light-colored tongues licking the pavement were of sand and not of snow. Sand stick together much less, and no banks were forming.

A creek bed at Zabriskie Point.

Limited visibility in a sand storm.

The so very popular Sand Dunes were completely (and literally) deserted. Sandy wind had discouraged most daring explorers; our children, however, insisted on getting out. They lasted about fifteen minutes: it ended in collective spitting, sneezing and complaining about sand in eyes. We had originally expected Death Valley to become a pleasant attraction along our long drive, but the situation did not present us with much choice than to continue towards Lone Pine.

And the road near Lone Pine was also covered with sand in spots; Sierra Nevada shone behind the sandy veil, bathing in sunshine. We hoped that weather would improve next day — for we lured Rumiko and Bryce out on this part of our trip, and we would be sad to watch them having covered hundreds of miles and discovering that they would not be able to emerge from their car or hotel. I spent an absurd evening at the hotel room, with a receiver pressed against my ear, trying to resolve the malfunction of my cell phone. It's maddening to have a meeting with friends who drive across half of the state, and your only phone connection is supposed to be this very cell phone. About ten times I had to answer questions whether I had the apparatus turned on, the battery fully charged and a strong signal indicated. All this the mobile had, but was refusing to perform elementary functions, such as connecting calls or send/receive text messages. After some two hours of remote re-programming its configuration and re-answering questions about its power, battery and signal status, the person on the other end of the line gave up and declared that they would send me a replacement. Which was nice, but did not solve my current need to communicate. Good that I had my Hippo along with his FUNCTIONAL cell phone.

Lisa at Candy Store

Tom driving.

The next day opened up into a beautiful morning, yet Hippo was rumbling that we get up too early — Rumiko was still yet to leave Tehachapi and we were tentatively scheduled to meet at noon. I had discovered that my twenty-gallon backpack with climbing gear was missing chalk, and so I returned my unfriendly Hippo to his bed, put the kids in the car and set out to find a grocery store (to purchase picnic food for our day among the rocks) and a climbers' store with chalk. By nine thirty, I rang Rumiko using Hippo's phone — and discovered she got delayed. We moved our get-together to one o'clock — and I ventured back to pull Hippo out of the hotel bed. It was ten in the morning and we had three hours to the meeting, suitable for something to do outdoors.

First we thought we would to the classic route, taking the kids to Whitney Portal Road, where snow lay — but we never made it to the snow line. The road was not only officially closed, but thoroughly barricaded by large boulders. Hippo invoked his explorer's instincts and demanded to check out the southern side of Alabama Hills. This turned out fateful, for we discovered an interesting climbing area there, which yours truly demanded to check out.

In Candy Store, how this area is called, I soon met other climbers — a couple with a little baby. Scott was not only willing to let me look into his guide book, but since his wife was currently putting their baby to sleep, he offered himself as belayer. I jumped at the opportunity — my kids and Hippo were asking for a snack and I simply could not eat with all those beautiful rocks around me. I led an easy 5.6 for starts, and then I used Scott's top rope in a 5.10a. Meanwhile my family finished snacking and I compelled Hippo up the easy route. By then one o'clock meeting time approached and we had to pack everything and go see Rumiko.

Lisa climbing.

Tom on Charleston Chew.

Tom begged to drive our car on the dirt road around the rocks. He sat on Hippo's lap and held the wheel, and shifted gears (i.e. moved the automatic from N to D), while Hippo operated the pedals and checked the wheel. Upon reaching the road, the gentlemen were obliged to assume regular driving positions; still this became for Tom the most important event of the day.

Rumiko and Bryce made an example of themselves, awaiting us at the agreed-upon spot, so we just turned around and dragged them back to the Candy Store. Bryce, who had sat the whole morning in their car, could not be held back and immediately escaped with the rest of the pack into the rock maze. Alabama Hills are ideal for our kids — plenty of small rocks where you can climb and walk, tiny caves, crawls, nooks — and a flat sandy desert around, with intermittent arroyos — just the right stuff for little explorers.

Little explorers' parents then have to have strong nerves and booming voices, but otherwise juniors can be safely released there. Rumiko kept running away to take pictures, and so I furtively did a quick climb on Werner's Werthers (5.8). I took the rope down and led again the easy 5.6 on Charleston Chew (thus I was climbing it for the third time). Subsequently, all three kids climbed, top-rope, this route, and Rumiko even finished it. Then I was again bound to climb up and collect all the irons (my ascent # four — at least I could not complain about not climbing enough).

Slingshot Arete is clearly photogenic.

Rumiko on top.

Time had come to change the scene; we moved the expedition to Paul's Paradise. The pack continued to run around there, while I kept on climbing. Rumiko followed in a few routes; then I felt the urge to try Slingshot Arete, which we had climbed with Pavel some time ago. It went well all the way to the crux, where a hole in the rock gaped at me instead of a bolt. I attempted to get past it a couple of times, but a missing clip in these short routes is dangerous — once you get too high, you could fall all the way to the ground; eventually I gave up and climbed back down (so that I could collect my material and not face the embarrassment of having to leave it there). Then I led the rope up on our favorite slab. Lisa refused to climb, but Bryce made it all the way to the top — and then (influenced by Bryce), Tom did his top-rope. He was very proud of himself. I went up the slab, belayed Rumiko from the anchor — from the round top where it is easy to sit, I taught her how to rappel.

The kids naturally demanded to have a dinner at Pizza Factory, which we (after enjoying the high standard of the Flying Monkey) did not really look forward to, but they had earned it. They had been nice throughout the day and did show effort at climbing, made no mischief, did neither fight nor bicker. I must say that they all seemed rather spaced out at the pizzeria, on account of being tired after running all day.

Tufa at Mono Lake.

Train among the tufa.

In the morning we drove out again to make a long journey — from Lone Pine all the way to Kirkwood. Our most substantial stop was at Mono Lake — first we could have a picnic, but mainly we could let the offspring run free there. Mono had an unexpected, greenish tint and with a backdrop of snow-topped Sierra mountains it was very photogenic. The kids, naturally, did not care for the pretty landscape — first they threw foam balls at each other, and when it bored them, they made a train. In time the caboose (Lisa) got out of control and disturb the otherwise orderly proceedings. Eventually we loaded the angry "engine" Tom and misbehaving "cars" back into the car and continued on, with a different configuration. I sat behind the wheel of Rumiko's Honda, with passengers Rumiko and Bryce, to free Rumiko from the necessity of driving all day. Honda CRV surprised me, though. It's a winding road north of Mono Lake and along Walker River, and I had driven there many times, with our bus and the wagon, but neither one of our two cars would get as tipsy as this SUV does.

We encountered a setback in the form of a grocery store in Bridgeport closed for good — after all, we had planned to buy our provisions there for our whole stay in the mountains. Furthermore, Monitor Pass was closed for traffic, and thus we had to re-arrange our layout again in Minden (I got to drive the bus, Hippo to navigate, and Rumiko follow in her car), to safely find a residential connector to highway 88 west. And we were also praying for the forecast precipitation to not affect driveability of the roads; we really did not look forward to using snow chains — but we passed without a problem.

We lit up the fireplace at Kirkwood and went out to have dinner. A funny logistic problem showed up in the "cabin" — Rumiko is short and cannot reach for coffee cups, or even towel hooks in the bathroom, and we had to lend a helping hand in several such cases. Apparently when building a ski resort, everybody counted on six feet tall Norwegians.

Kids, Rumiko and Mono Lake.

Ditch of Doom, favorite with the kids.

Bryce attended a skiing class in the morning and the rest of us, including kids, just went skiing. We met him again after lunch, slid down Bunny slope once with Rumiko (even beginner Bryce could do this straight downhill) and proceeded to take our visitors to a more decent track. Bryce kept falling, but he's a fighter and he insisted to finish it. Children liked Ditch of Doom the best — the name gave them the impression of a real hard challenge, although it actually is one of the easiest sections of the Kirkwood mountain. On the other hand, this ditch will actually teach them a few tricks — running up a counter-slope, turning, aiming between the trees, conquer small jumps without an accident — all interesting stuff.

In the afternoon we pondered whether to stay at Kirkwood till Sunday, but a family council had eventually decreed that there had been enough vacationing and one night in our own respective beds would behoove us best, as well as a day partially devoted to dawdling around, unpacking and washing all those things brought back from the trip. After all, we had had a very intense week — seen many friends, finally accomplishing to get one of the kids' schoolmates out on a trip (hereby I commend Rumiko, who has adopted our system of unplanning the future and following our momentary whims), we hiked upon mountains, climbed rocks, and skied as a bonus. I was also leaving Kirkwood happy and with a promise to next weekend of a ladies-only run with Bára and Vendula, and outlook to skiing somewhat harder parts than the Ditch of Doom.