Ladies' competition — catching a calf.

Gentlemen had to first knock the calf down and tie it up.

Hays Street Cafe had only open seats on the patio, but we managed to rearrange the parasols so that we were not too hot. Hippo and Tom squirmed that they did not want to go to see the rodeo, but eventually agreed that they would accompany us for a while. On top of that, they had let us in without paying — either they stopped selling tickets, or the program was getting close to the finish, we don't know. We lasted a whole hour, eventually. Our favorite show this year consisted of a competition where cowboys had to lasso a calf and tie up its legs. Often such endeavor terminated in a disordered heap in the dust, with hoofs and booted legs waving about in the air, while the audience yelled, "you can kiss her, too!" and so on.

Then we could no longer take the heat and we left the town for the purpose of cooling off in the mountains. It was much better at Lundy Lake, especially since the trail goes through a forest. We checked out the beaver dam and scrambled up a rock. There, my family began to fade and rumble that they won't go any farther. But when I suggested I'd go a bit more, Tom joined me — his nature of a discoverer did not tolerate me exploring places that he has not seen.

Beaver dam at Lundy.

The trail turned into a creek.

We did not get far, though — the trail soon changed into a creek bed. We jumped from rock to rock and on logs, but eventually we entered a situation where we had to choose between getting water in our boots, or taking them off. Thus we rather returned to Hippo and Lisa, who were already splashing in the icy lake. Neither one dared to really jump in, and so they just splashed some water on themselves. We found it socially and hygienically necessary, and it was also very pleasant on such a hot day.

We had planned to meet with Nejedlys near Mono Lake between five and six in the afternoon. They had visited Bodie, which we rejected on account of the heat. In the end, both crews reached the parking lot within about two minutes of each other. Juniors acted as if they had not seen each other the day before, and with a happy roar they disappeared in the direction playground. Later we took them on an interpretive trail as well. At one moment, while I was marching along the wooden pathway, surrounded by a pack of four children, tourists asked me with admiration, whether they were all mine — I had to humbly admit that only half of them were. On our way back to the cars the pack demanded to go back to the playground, but they were democratically given a choice of playground, or fire-roasted hot dogs. They voted for dogs (which was our intent, for we had them ready in the back of our car and I would not bet much on being able to come up with any other dinner — but so far, our offspring has not called our bluffs in these matters).

With Nejedlys at Mono Lake.

Campfire.

Nejedlys had to replenish their supply of beer in Bridgeport. One can usually find a few (alcoholic) lemonades and/or some cider, but definitely not in a volume sufficient for six adults. Then we had to drag them on/off the road to the camp. Somewhere near the middle they almost missed a right turn — they thought that the clearing near the crossroads was it, and got ready to stop and camp. I think that they found us unexpectedly crazy, but they eventually caught up with us.

We took advantage of kids' energy and their desire to roast things on open fire, and we sent them to collect wood. The fire remained interesting for just a while, with a much better attraction of nearby bubbling brook that you can ford and cross over fallen logs, and splash and spray and yell about in the woods. Eventually even the hot dogs got roasted, and other sausages and marshmallows. When the kids began asking for head-lamps, we realized that it got dark and that it would be highest time to chase everybody into their sleeping bags.

Waiting for the parade.

Finally!

We were in a hurry in the morning — to quickly swallow some breakfast without cooking, and then rushing to Bridgeport to be there in time for the festivities and parade by ten o'clock. We waited near the turn-around point, i.e. in front of Hays Street Cafe, where we planned to have brunch. But because we experienced everything with a delay, being at the end of the Main street, it took a lot longer before the head of the parade advanced all the way to us. All the juniors received supportive jellies from Blanka, but even that did not discourage them from fooling around. At last, the procession reached us. Some floats carried refreshments in the form of water guns applied on the audience, other floats spread candy and even small toys (plastic frisbees, I glimpsed a small airplane).

Hippo did not waste time and reserved our tables just before the parade ended, and thus we were able to order decent food together with Nejedlys (although with each family at a separate table, for there were total eleven of us, which would probably be quite impractical). Then we separated again and followed our own schedule. We came up with the idea to hike to waterfalls over Twin Lakes, to avoid repeating our obligatory Virginia Lakes.

Bodie dames.

Running away into the cool wilderness.

From our previous trip to here, I recalled strenuous hiking uphill switchback, but this time it wasn't as horrible. At the first view of the creek (one totally saturated by tourists from the awful campground at the foot of the hill), I dipped my t-shirt in the water and thus I cooled myself off a bit. From this point on we ascended practically on our own (tourists, having demonstrated a breathtaking effort of hiking uphill for fifteen minutes to the first switchback above the campground, were returning to their motor homes and astroturfs). On the second viewpoint, I decided that it would make sense to cool off the kids as well. Tom took my splashing as a game, but our princess Lisa got awfully mad and started to cry.

It was much cooler on the mountain meadow near the snow level, but we belatedly realized that the planning committee had made a grievous mistake — we had arrived to this wet swampy ground WITHOUT an insect repellent. Finding a good spot for a picnic was thus somewhat complicated — it was necessary to find a place to sit, possibly even splash in the creek, but most of all a windy knoll, which would make mosquito attacks difficult. Hippo barged onward through the grove and more swamps, until I had to yell that I was not going to take it anymore, and that I was returning to the edge of the meadow, which was not as muddy and offered some wind. Hippo was rumbling, but in the end we were all engulfed by the insects, including himself.

Our duck Lisa rushed to the creek, but soon her features took on an edgy grin and she sped out of the water at a hasty pace. Melted snow had traveled perhaps only a few hundred feet before reaching this creek, and its temperature reflected it. I was pleasantly surprised that the kids had found a nice spot downstream with a view of the creek, for the purposed of eating their snacks, and seemed to enjoy the scenery. We all got perked up by the refreshments, but it's true that returning meant going DOWNHILL, which is easier. At another refreshing break in the middle of our descent, even Lisa splashed merrily and laughed — so even she may have realized that on a hot day a few drops of cold water are no disaster.

This time, a slightly higher ascent.

Snacking kids admired the creek.

We had a heated up can soup for dinner at our campsite, and we washed ourselves, as much as we could, in the brook. After all we were quite sweaty and smelly after such a hike. We were a bit worried by clouds over Bridgeport, and we hoped that we won't be watching the festive fireworks from inside of our car. It looked ever more threatening on our way, but in the very town, no a drop would fall that night. Perhaps due to the cloud cover (and earlier darkness), they started the fireworks earlier. And I consider it almost incredible that we were able in all this chaos to accidentally run into Nejedlys. Further I must tell you that this time I remembered how uncomfortable standing around was, and made the whole family take our camping chairs along, thus we were observing the fireworks in utter comfort. That is, Lisa spent most of the show on my lap; she's still apparently frightened by the booms, but she cried out enthusiastically upon many fire shots, and so even she seems to have begun enjoying this fun.

On Tuesday morning we met with Peter at Hays Street Cafe; we were to load him in our bus and drive him home, while Blanka with their kids and visitors rushed towards Las Vegas, Nevada. Having arrived at the parking lot, we noticed that our plan has gone somewhat awry. About twenty people we milling in front of the restaurant. We estimated the waiting time to be about one to one and half hour, and opted to buy breakfast in the local GENERAL STORE. We ate it at a meadow near Buckeye and subsequently jumped into the hot springs there. Unlike with Hays Street Cafe, this attraction was otherwise devoid of people. The swelling river had turned the hot springs into lukewarm ones, but even so they were cleansing and refreshing. Hippos sudden retreat into the woods surprised me — it would have been somewhat less obvious, had there been any real forest; he had some serious problems hiding among desert bushes. He returned slick with cold sweat — eventually we identified it as a probable symptom of a heat stroke. During the night before he shivered under two sleeping bags like an expensive dog, although it was relatively warm outside, and quite comfortable in the tent.

The creek was very picturesque.

Pretty clouds over Bridgeport.

Thanks to his illness, Hippo subsequently skipped our last item of our schedule, a horse ride. Tommy was asking for it perhaps more than Lisa. Apparently a manly company of cowboys at the pack station made him realize that horse riding can be a job for men, and it may not be just a girly affair like in a paddock. Petr said that he would like to participate in the fun, and did so. He got "my" Willie, while I got a mare named Jenna. Kids rode Hank and Barney. Craig was out at a vet's with Large Marge, and thus Colleen led the expedition, riding Tayler.

Jenna kept turning her head and checking me out; it was apparent that she wasn't too happy with what she saw. She tried right away to brush me off against a fence post, and then through a bush, which I did not allow her to do. However, Hank bucked at the ford and refused to enter the creek. Jenna decided to stick to him. On top of that, Sage turned Smoky around and returned back to the corrals with a dog that went along with us, but who's drowning Colleen did not want to risk (he was smaller than Craig's labrador). Jenna interpreted Smoky's retreat as an opportunity to get back home and started turning around with me. Even this I somehow managed to cancel, and Lisa succeeded in getting Hank across the creek; now Colleen's Tayler began some funny business. One can possibly explain it by considering how late in the afternoon it was and the horses were hoping for a dinner and being left alone, and certainly did not feel like going somewhere, but I think that Craig's absence played a great role. I am convinced that these horses obey his every word and don't dare any mischief as long as the master is nearby.

Fireworks took place without rain.

Finally a warm bath!

Colleen's daughter normally rides Jenna, and perhaps that's why Jenna did not like me. On our way she kept bothering the horse ahead of her, poking it with her nozzle, until Willy tried to kick her once or twice. Eventually I talked to Petr and we passed him — Jenna would not dare so much bother Barney, who's more relaxed. I also think that Jenna is used to go in front of the column, and suffered poorly being ordered in the midst of the horse ranks.

When we returned to the pack station, Sunday situation repeated itself — Lisa lingered around the horses, being given an armful of hay for Hank and Barney by Colleen. We chatted with the cowboys and cowgirls, and partially packed for our journey back home, when a truck with a horse trailer emerged from behind the turn on the highway. How the horses in the corrals knew it to be Craig bringing Large Marge, I don't know. In any case they whinnied and showed much joy (see my impression that the horses know quite well who's the boss there). And so the kids saw Large Marge and Lisa even rode on the bare back (no saddle) of this huge mare. Tom was keeping near Barney, I think that he needed to have his own, known horse.

Craig divulged that the marines have some bolted climbing routes near their exercise parking lot, and we went to check it out. The bolts were obviously industrial (about five time larger than the small metals commonly used by climbers), but the routes were marked (including difficulty classification), and although they were very easy, I liked them as a training terrain for kids and Hippos. Next time we're going to take ropes and stuff, and if the military won't kick us out, we can even try to climb.

All that was left to do was getting home — with a small stop at Strawberry Inn with its pleasant Czech owner; we had tested it last year. We picked Strawberry for dinner, not wanting to risk that we would reach the next wave of civilization after closing time.

On horseback — Carol, Lisa, Sage, Tom and Petr.

Even brooks were swelling.

At home on the following day, Lisa went down with fever. Perhaps she caught a virus from Hippo, or somewhere else, either way she kept her high temperatures and cough long enough that we canceled Hollie on the next Monday and went to the doctor's. They found nothing, and suggested waiting, and so we waited. The whole illness took a whole week, being hell for both kids. Lisa wept over missed horses and swim classes so much, we went soft and bought her a horse head on a pole as a consolation prize, the one she had her eye on for her birthday. That is, first Lisa wanted a live horse, and if not a live one, then at least a stuffed one (but best life-sized); the other day she was fondly gazing at a rocking horse. I talked her out of it, saying that she was too big for it, but I could not find enough arguments against a horse head on a broom stick, with which you can pretend to be riding. Only when paying for it I noticed the head could also neigh and sneeze. In the worst case, we can always take the batteries out.

My forced staying at home was embellished by problems with my phone. Before leaving for the weekend, I noticed I was running low on (pre-paid) credit, and purchased extra minutes on the internet. They did not show up on my phone by the next day, and I called Tracfone to fix it. After several hours of listening to robo-holds, the agent caused a remedy — minutes showed up. I thanked her and breathed out — until Sid called me on our home line, telling me my cell was offline. Confirmed so. I spent another four hours in robo-hold hell, spoke with about three more agents, who said they had to escalate the case to a supervisor, until the last instance of a supervisor would drop out in mid dialog (or hang up on me, who can tell?). My subsequent attempts to reach them terminated at eight in the evening, when the robo-holding machine announced that they were valuing me greatly, and I should call Monday. Green with anger, I went to bed, and spent the extended weekend "immobilized".

Returning from the ride.

Lisa in seventh heaven.

On Wednesday, after returning from our trip, I reached Tracfone again, where they said after several switches that they would fix it, and indeed — operator could call me, I could call her, yay. My joy lasted until evening, when Sid told me that he had received my text message from a completely different number. I pondered whether I had the nerve to spend several more days on robo-holds, or resolve it by telling everybody I know that I had a new number. I decided for the latter option. On the next Saturday, Tracfone e-mailed me to say they apologize that they had changed my number in error and that they switched it back to the old one. I was besides myself (for I had spent the last two days exclusively by searching for reliable contacts to everybody who needs my phone number, telling them to change it); but there was one more problem — my cell phone STOPPED WORKING AGAIN.

On the other hand, after such experience with my service provider I had no more request for them — I was completely resigned to accepting any number they give me, I wanted only one thing — the phone to FUNCTION. So I ended up with my original number (as it seemed simpler that way) and we shall see, how long it is going to last. So, if anybody feels like contacting me, I recommend some pre-technological means (e.g. a pony express seems to be a good idea).