The Road Trip, part 8

Day 7 -- Bedrock

The day began with tree-planting. Jenny had picked up some young shade trees to plant near the bunkhouse, so Dickie Joe revved up the track-hoe to start digging holes. Carson soon joined him in the tiny cab, and had a smile plastered across his face the entire time. When they got down, the first hole dug, he declared "that was funnn!"

Carson mans ("boys"?) the controls under Dickie Joe's watchful eye.

Dickie Joe offered me the track-hoe, and I figured why not? I climbed aboard, listened to the two-minute tutorial, and was off. Operating a track-hoe for a basic function like digging holes is comparable to playing a video game. Two main hand joysticks take care of the raising and lowering, bucket curling, and rotating. Two other sticks for motion, including spinning the tank treads to rotate the entire track-hoe. A throttle. A couple of other controls that I didn't need and so didn't learn. Anyway, it's not hard. I finished digging the particular hole for a larger tree, then scraped the dirt back in. The soil thus broken up, Val took the helm and dug the final tree hole. All of us finished planting the tree, and then we had breakfast.

My turn...

...and Valerie gets in on the fun too.

Then I drove the track-hoe -- at top speed it might be moving at eight miles an hour -- down the lane a bit to the ranch manager's home, where we planted one more tree.

Later, I was helping install a swamp cooler, when Jenny and Val drove up on the four-wheel quads, kids mounted fore and aft with Jenny (there's a rear-mounted toolbox that acts like a high seat back, so there was no way Carson could tumble off). Since the installation was down to a two-man job, I was shanghaied into a quad excursion. (Unfortunately it was for much longer than I thought, and so ended up with a sunburned arm. My jeans and hat protected other parts, and my left arm has had a "driver's arm" tan for decades, but my right is still susceptible.) We motored up to Rte. 90, went east about two miles, then turned off onto a graded dirt road that headed up into the north canyon. Cliffs soon loomed overhead on both sides as we pushed on alongside the Dolores.

Ready for off. (It's hard to see, but Carson is tucked up behind Jenny on the yellow quad.)

Canyon walls -- just beautiful.

The kids check out the aqueduct remains.

Kicking back atop a sun-drenched boulder.

I take after my kids.

The entire view is captivating. The high and crumbling cliffs, the rocky slopes littered with scrub and scree long fallen, the muddy Dolores splashing along on our left. A few miles in the San Miguel River ends by converging into the Dolores; we arrived here just in time to witness an eagle soaring along the top of the western cliff face, casting a shadow just below it, gracefully coasting until turning where the canyon bent back again. The dirt road continued up the San Miguel, and we went further along, until we came to the remains of an century-old aqueduct built high on the opposite wall for mining operations back in the day. Having seen that, we turned back and pulled off at a slightly secret picnic site (if you don't know it's there, you'd never find it) down by the riverbank. The kids stripped down and splashed in the muddy shallows. I roamed through the brush a bit and spotted uncounted lizards. Finally, we packed up -- we hadn't brought more than a snack's worth of food, and were getting hungry -- and headed home to the ranch. Amalie had taken the controls (under Jenny's watchful eye) on the trip in, so Carson got the conn on the ride out, and did quite well. Start to finish, we were out four-wheeling for about three, maybe four hours. On the whole we are not keeping a close eye on the time, not out here. The sun's position is accurate enough.

The hat proved its worthiness by holding fast to my head even when running along at 30 mph. I like this hat.

After sunset, we got a second amazing lightning show, mostly atop the northern range. Some striking bolts, some horizontal bolts, some deep in the clouds lighting up the skies, and some cells far to the east. We sat around a small campfire (well controlled in a rock hearth) and enjoyed the show. Later, some rain fell, but the storm was in the quiet parts by the time it passed over us.

The coolest roadsign in existence.

Living the vida rancho can wear out a li'l guy. Deep sleep well earned (and moved to a proper bed soon after).

The Road Trip, part 7

Day 6 -- Montrose to Bedrock

I picked up the cable I needed at an Office Depot very early in the day, so perhaps I can add some pictures before we get home. Not soon, though, as for the next few days we will be far removed from Web access.

We got up (slowly), had breakfast, packed while the kids did some more trampoline jumping, and were about to leave when Jake got up. We bid him a final thanks and good-bye, and were on our way. We were almost out of Montrose when we passed a jerky stand, so we turned back and stocked up. Good stuff.

The drive, through increasingly remote and beautiful corners of Colorado, was uneventful, other than that it rained on and off. One noteworthy stretch climbed up the side of a valley, gaining height quickly and making the roadside slope dropoff all that much more difficult to survive. What was initially surprising was that much of this part of the route had no guardrails whatsoever. This is to facilitate easy snow removal in the wintertime -- simply push it over the cliff unimpeded -- but it does get a bit nervewracking.

Finally entering the valley wherein lies Bedrock, we had a long, almost straight drive down high scrubland, with occasional warnings of cattle grazing or cattle guards along the road, but we didn't see a single cow on the way. Bedrock has a post office and a store, but is little more than a very loose collection of houses and trailers near the Dolores River at the bottom of the valley. Only the main road is paved. It is quite nice. We found the ranch with no difficulty.

Driving down the valley, we saw a storm at the far end, huge sheets of rain and the occasional thunderbolt -- but arriving at the ranch, it was still dry. The views in every direction are amazing -- steep canyon walls north and south, each ridge split by a canyon, the climbing valley floor east, and mountaintops in Utah to the west. I stepped out to take a few landscape shots, and noticed another storm moving in, drifting up the southern canyon. It soon reached our site, and drenched everything with elemental enthusiasm, turning red soil into murky mud. The lightning mostly stayed high on the ranges, which was agreeable. The kids made good use of the mud afterward. The rainstorm was a rare thing, as the valley around Bedrock typically gets only 5-6 inches of rain a year.

Rainstorm.

Canyon north.

Canyon south.

Mountains west.

After the storm passed (though high clouds remained prevalent), I noticed that some clouds floated along inside the valley -- ridges were visible above them. Dang, this is a deep valley.

Carson makes use of the afterstorm mud.

And so does Amie.

Freelance ranch hand.

The kids, muddied, hang with Aunt Laura on the heavy equipment. Faithful hound Fudge attends.

Hay -- one of the ranch's raisons d'etre. Each bale weighs around 1400 pounds, and is sized to fit in a pickup bed.

Hay bales, with the chronicler (6'1", plus hat) for scale.

Amie has gotten quite adept at driving a quad (properly supervised, of course, but they're not at all complicated to operate).

The Road Trip, part 6

Day 5 -- Monument to Montrose

We finally packed up to head further west. Carson had taken a shine to a small scooter that his cousins outgrew years ago, and had so much fun toodling about on it (and growing skillful rapidly), that Aunt Rose gave it to him. He said Thank You without being prompted (which I love him doing). I folded it up and stowed it in the trunk.

About halfway up the canyon on the way to Monarch Pass, there is a turnoff amidst a village of touristy-type attractions -- river raft rides, helicopter rides -- that leads up to the main attraction, Royal Gorge, and the suspension bridge built across it, 1053 feet above the Arkansas River. (I have a vague recollection of having visited here once in my youth, but am not certain, and perhaps it was another high suspension bridge elsewhere in the Rockies. I did visit a high bridge somewhere in the west.) Admission allows visitors to cross the bridge, ride on shuttles across, wander about, enjoy a few rides -- and if you leave in under an hour, they rebate some of the price. I checked our receipt against my cell phone, and timed ourselves. Carson and I walked across faster than the ladies did, but eventually we all congregated on the far side. The bridge is bedecked with the flags of all fifty states, so we made sure to take some footage at the Texas flag, and I also posed by the Connecticut banner.

That's over 1000 feet down to the river.

The bridge is the most popular way to see the gorge, but other methods exist. Far below we saw river rafts drift along on the partly white water. There's a cable car that is a bit higher than the bridge. Another option is a belay swing which tosses riders off one of the highest points above the gorge, flying briefly into free space. And there are the aforementioned helicopter rides, which do a flyby past the bridge and sundry. The first helicopter tour we saw did a simple pass parallel to the bridge, but the next one banked sharply above the far end and then did a power dive into the gorge. Oh mercy, that was a sight to see; I cannot imagine riding it.

We finished our time at Royal Gorge with the kids and Val taking a couple of quick spins on the carousel, and then we left (just cutting under the one hour mark, so we got some of our admission price rebated). And Carson found a penny.

Been there, done it.

Salida is the last stop of note before climbing up Monarch Pass, so I pulled over and topped off the tank, as gas would only be getting more expensive westward. To give us the most oomph for the climb, I pumped super 91 octane, at a cost of $4.159 per gallon. This marks the first time I have paid more than $4/gal.

Staying in third gear most of the way and tooling along at 45 mph, we crested Monarch Pass with little difficulty -- the Civic did great! The pass is 11,312 feet according to the signpost, the highest elevation we were going to see. There's a store at the top, souvenirs and all sorts of things, and we'd stopped there before (however, this was our first summitting in the Civic) and knew the kids would want some bits. Plus it makes for a good stretch and rest stop.

We made it!

I've lived in Texas for almost 18 years, and though I have, very sporadically, tried to find a thematically correct cowboy hat, I have never come close to finding one that looked good atop my head. It has never been an important matter to me, I've never tried hard to locate a good one. Imagine my surprise when, high atop a Coloradan mountain, there was a small selection of hats and the first one I picked up and donned sang out that this was The One. I checked in mirrors. I canvassed Val and the kids. Simply amazing; I found a hat. MY hat. Black felt with a colored bead band, and can take a beating.

I got me a hat!

Onward, over the pass and down into the high mountain valleys of western Colorado. The scenery is stunning, the drive is fairly routine though far from tedious, and the weather was ideal -- heavy clouds but little rain, so it was comfortable all-around, not too hot nor cool, not too dry nor humid. Proof? We saw dozens of motorcycles going both directions, well over 100 though we didn't keep count. The motorcycles were out in force, solos and squadrons. Motorcycling isn't my thing, but I can fully understand why so many were out this day.

A brief stretch stop beside a very full reservoir.

As we traversed the final hills before Montrose, suddenly the sun, high clouds, and landscape lined up and treated us to a spectacular double rainbow. We pulled over and took many pictures. The ends (which of course are not really ends) were visible in front of trees and hillside, so I suppose we could have tried for the legendary pot of gold, but decided otherwise. A few miles on the rainbow reappeared against an even better backdrop, a mountain meadow, so we stopped again and got more pictures (and I got my boots very muddied). Thanks for the light show, powers that be.

The first rainbow (a double, though as usual the secondary is hard to see).

Couldn't quite fit the whole arc in the shot.

The second rainbow, clearly a double (full size).

And, the other end.

Finally arriving in Montrose, we decided this would be our night's stop. Val's sister Laura lives here, but she was -- oh, irony -- already at Jenny's ranch following her backpacking trip. Her son Jake was home, though, and welcomed us warmly. The kids immediately found the trampoline in the backyard, and went to it. After a while Jake climbed aboard and showed them some of the flips and stunts he's mastered after years of practice; they were impressed. We had a late dinner at a local brewpub, Smuggler's, which was a good ending to the day. Good food, great service, excellent in-house beers.

Back to the house, the kids finally dropped off, Val too, and I was about to turn off the TV when the channel I was watching -- some premium channel, I don't remember which -- aired 84 Charing Cross Road. I had had this movie raved to me (particularly back in the mid-1980s, when it came out), but never had seen it, so I decided to give it a try -- and stayed up watching the entire thing. It is a delightful character piece, negligible action, dialogue-driven and much of it very witty, the story of a New York City writer who loves British works but, since she can never find them in NYC, begins a mail correspondence with a second-hand seller in London (the title is the address of the fictional bookstore). The writer and the bookstore staff never meet, yet have a fulfilling friendship through the post. A little treat of a movie, which are so hard to find today.

And then, finally, it was lights out.

The Road Trip, part 5

Day 4 -- Still in Monument

Monument was so relaxing that we decided to stay an extra day -- after all, we're on vacation, and our agenda is very loose at best. We took the kids to a local park for some climb-around time, and they loved it, like always. It wasn't a very big park but it had plenty of playscape structures, including a merry-go-round, which are getting harder to find every year.

Play carousel in the park. These are getting harder to find.

I did a short shopping run, which reminded me of two things -- one, prices in Colorado tend to be higher than at home (or maybe that's just Safeway's pricing for those who lack their affinity card), and two, airtight packages sealed at lower altitudes tend to inflate. Potato chip bags look like pillows.

Late in the afternoon, after the park visit, the clouds which had threatened and thundered for over a day finally broke loose the rain with a vengeance -- thick, torrential downpours, including some small hailstones. It was a very good soaking. Wish we'd get a bit more of that back in Austin.

The Road Trip, part 4

Day 3 -- Denver area

Monday morning, the weather was gorgeous -- sunny, cool, light breezes. I had breakfast on the back porch with no company except Chinook, the dog who lives at the home we're visiting. I love a quiet morning alone; Val and the kids slept in, as did their cousin Kyle. Father Mike was already off to work, and everyone else was flying home from visiting their grandparents (my in-laws) in Alaska. So it was very much quiet time, and the day's plans called for only a short drive later in the afternoon.

We needed the downtime after the long driving days, so we goofed off all morning. The kids pulled some tricycles out of the garage -- far too small for their cousins, having long since outgrown them, but perfect for little ones.

Around 3:00, we headed out for the one trip on the day, up to Centennial, just south of Denver. My aunt and uncle, Erica and Steve, had moved here a few years ago, a fact which I had completely forgotten until my father reminded me (boy, did I feel dumb, but they had lived near San Diego for decades and that's where we had visited them previously), suggesting a visit since we'd be in the area. So we did, giving them a chance to see their grandniece (last visit: age seven months) and grandnephew (never). Plus, they would have their granddaughter Danica, about a year older than Amalie, for a few hours after school (year-round public schools are not rare in Colorado).

Carson fell asleep on the drive up, and so stayed sacked out on a bed for about two hours, and Amalie immediately ran off with Danica and another friend to play Barbies with a passion. So much for visiting face time with their great-aunt and great-uncle. Kids, sigh.

Carson eventually woke up, and Danica's mom Candy came by to collect her. It was good to see my cousin for a bit, even briefly. They left, and the rest of us went to dinner, where Carson revived fully and was at his expository best, followed by a visit to Dairy Queen (the good kind, with vanilla and chocolate custard, and chocolate, cherry, or butterscotch dips; in Austin, all we get is vanilla with chocolate dip, feh). Carson almost set a world record for getting his face messy. Afterward, Uncle Steve perplexed him with his car remote, getting Carson to touch the car and setting off the lights and horn, confusing the poor little guy somewhat. We visited for a bit longer (Amalie playing solo with Barbies -- Danica has her own Barbie-loaded bedroom in her grandparents' house, though she never stays in it), took some pictures, and said our good-byes. It was a delightful visit. Ec & Steve's home is very welcoming, spacious, flows well, and beautifully appointed. They have no second thoughts about their move to Colorado.

Amalie gets a hug from her great-aunt Erica...

...as does Carson.

The trip home was annoying to me, because I-25 has almost no lights between Centennial and Monument, we were very low on gas as we finally approached our exit, and the high, thin air (and it was overall uphill the entire way) simply kills the engine's compression. It runs fine, but power is limited. When we pulled off at our exit and gassed up, I made sure to fill with the mid-range octane (which up here, is 87, the "regular" back in Austin; the regular in these parts is 86 or even 85). I may buy one tank of super to ensure getting over the high pass with relative ease.

I was tempted to go to the Rockies-Nationals game Monday night, but easily shook it off. Visiting family was better, and I've been to Coors Field before.

The Road Trip, part 3

Day 2 -- Shamrock to Monument, by way of Amarillo

Way back in 1977, my family took a long vacation, drove our new RV from Connecticut to Yellowstone and back. We got used to campgrounds, pull in, plug in, eat dinner, hit the sack, get up and back on the road. And we had our cairn terrier, Candy, with us. As with most dogs, she was adaptable to this way of life -- as long as she got fed and her humans were about, all was well.

One morning, about an hour along the road from where we had stayed the night before, someone asked where Candy was? Not back here! Not here. Not up behind the pedals, where she liked to sleep. Oops.

We turned back, and at the campground, she was sitting underneath the picnic table at the site we'd stayed. Good dog; we're sorry. I picked her up, climbed back in the RV, and we were on our way again. And after that, we always made sure to check for Candy before leaving. Never again left her behind.

The art-deco former Conoco station in the daylight.

Ramone's House of Body Art (note the Cadillac Range in the background).

Leaving Shamrock yesterday, about five miles along the highway, Carson realized he didn't have his plush dinosaur. Oh dear. No one could recall specifically packing it. We exited and pulled over, but a quick search of the cab and trunk found no dino. I called the hotel and asked them to check, and we turned back. Arrived in Shamrock -- Ramone's again! -- and the clerk immediately handed me the key to our room. I rummaged the bed Carson had slept in, removed the coverlet, the blanket -- and at this point, the crumpled sheet looked a bit lumpy -- and yes, tangled in the sheet, the dinosaur. Reunited, we were back on the road.

Heading toward Amarillo, we sighted a wind farm far to the north, though none of the turbines were in motion.

In Amarillo, we pulled off for lunch, gas, and a quick trip to Wal-mart. As with McDonald's, this is never a preferred stop for me, but it provides a mostly reliable product mix (you know what you'll find) and it's right off the highway. Carson wrangled four Hot Wheels cars, Amalie got a new game for her Leapster (which was well worth the cost), and I got what I wanted -- spray paint, two cans. Lunch was so disappointing I will not name the establishment (a regional chain). And then we were off again to the day's only scheduled stop.

A few miles west of Amarillo is a unique work of art, unmarked but easy to find -- Cadillac Ranch. Park along the I-40 frontage road, enter a field through a gate, and about 100 yards in is the sculpture, ten 1950s-vintage Cadillacs buried near-upright in the ground, tails (most with fins) held high. And all of them covered, inside and out, with glorious layers and layers and layers and layers of spray paint. Folks visit Cadillac Ranch armed with cameras and paint, and I made sure we had both.

Cadillac Ranch -- ten 1950s-vintage Caddies, upright in the soil, spectacularly adorned.

Carson had been drowsy in the car after our lunch stop, but I told him to stay awake, that he would like our next stop. Cadillac Ranch, as with the U-Drop Inn, is commemorated in Cars, as part of the mountain range around the town of Radiator Springs. Sure enough, once out of the car and on the path, he perked up all the way, broke into a run to get to the cars. It was very windy, so I told him he had to be sure to spray the paint downwind. We still got some on our hands.

Carson checks out one of the cars.

The author tags a car, progeny within.

Love those olde-tyme tailfins!

I tagged at least four cars with Amalie's name, several with Carson's, and added random graphic elements here and there. Cadillac Ranch is what you make of it. We all took turns with red and green spray cans. The grounds around the cars are littered with empties (we discarded ours in the dumpster near the gate). Paint cans empty, pictures and video taken, we departed, well-satisfied with our visit.

Tag!

You're it!

Tag team.

Val got in on the fun too.

Cadillac Ranch as we left it.

We headed back into Amarillo to turn north, and so didn't really get on the road until after 3:00. Oof. Not what I was hoping for, as with the addition of the Shamrock to Amarillo stretch, this was to be a slightly longer drive than day one, which I had not anticipated.

The final Texas stretch through the panhandle brought three sights -- operating oil pumps, huge corn fields, and another wind farm, this one close by our route, 16 huge turbine towers, several rotating. Energy is a key issue in our world, and if anyone thinks we don't have room for more wind farms or massive solar arrays, they are wrong. Wind farms of course need to be placed where the wind is, but sunlight falls everywhere, and some of the regions in west Texas could easily be adapted for such uses, because there's a lot of west Texas and much of it isn't doing anything that wouldn't be better converted to energy uses.

We knew New Mexico was approaching, but the first indication was a sign informing us we were entering Mountain Time Zone. New Mexico started out flat but soon got a little hilly, but the drive was easy. Most of the way it was very cloudy -- not just a lot of clouds, but they were stuck, hardly moved at all. Our travel westward ended at the town of Raton, up against the early edge of the Rocky Mountains. We stopped for dinner, then turned north onto I-25 for the climb into Colorado.

Driving up the Raton Pass, I told Amalie to look at the mountains on either side, and to be ready to see BIG mountains as these were rather small. She was incredulous -- "but Daddy, these are huge!" That's just inexperience talking, though she has seen the Rockies before, just too young to remember well. And sure enough, after we cleared the pass, the few mountains to the east fell away but the ones to the west got bigger. The sun was setting, and a tiny crescent moon sometimes peeked through the clouds, but it too soon set.

We motored on, stopping once in Pueblo (and getting briefly lost in a truly dismally designed exit and re-entry), but finally arrived in Monument just as the clock displayed 11:00. Carson had dozed off many miles back, but woke up for a few hours of fun time, lasting into the early morning. I think I was the last awake, finally dropping off at 1:30 am. And this is not so unusual, road trip or no.

Surprisingly, our cell phones picked up the time zone change without having to cycle power. That's a feature the older phones did not do. Nice.

(There will be pictures added a bit later, but I need to get a cable -- forgot to bring it, curse me.)

(Update: it's November, but pictures and links are being added, at last.)

The Road Trip, part 2

Day 1 -- Austin to Shamrock (440 miles)

The worst part of any road trip is always getting out of Austin. But we managed.

Alas, we did not hit the road until just before noon, costing us valuable travel time, but onward we went, Google maps at the ready (GPS being something I have as yet resisted). I had had trouble sleeping in the wee hours of the night -- unfounded concern about this road trip -- and so was a bit fuzzy for the first stretch, which was both hot and on the twisty lanes of Texas Hill Country. A jug of ice water and a selection of road food snacks sustained us well. We stopped at some nondescript joint for a late lunch, which left me greatly refreshed. We pushed on.

In the town of Coleman, suddenly a train appeared to our left. I pointed it out to the kids, who enjoy watching trains (we live near a crossing and often get caught waiting for one, which is never too bad, rather fun actually). The train was making good speed, on a long, flat run. Suddenly our road curved to the left and up onto a bridge -- we passed over the train! Cool. And then we were traveling with the train on our right -- and catching up the locomotives! Over the in-car chatter, I barely heard the horns, and so opened the passenger side windows for fullest effect. WHHUUURRRRRRMMMMMMM!!! We were now racing the train head to head -- double cool!

And then the road went back over the train again! Our hardy little Civic zoomed up the arc of the bridge just as the engines were passing under! A tie! Triple cool!

Our paths then diverged a bit, and we left the train behind. Though soon the tracks and our route went back to a closely paralleled journey straight to Abilene, mere yards apart, we didn't see the train again.

Past Abilene, and with Hill Country long behind us, the Texas landscape went very flat, Big Sky country, and as we headed north more scrub and trees were evident. Miles would go by without other traffic. Empty but not desolate. The day's peak heat passed over, and the sun began setting. We made a few short stops to stretch, refresh, and once to fuel the car, but there's just not much else to see along this stretch. The scenery is captivating both in natural beauty and a "look how much there is" way.

We made one last road stop in Childress, herded the kids into the restrooms. The gas station/store catered to trucks, and there were about a dozen parked at the far edge of the lot, most rumbling away in that massive diesel engine way. I walked Amie and Carson over there just to take a look, see them up close. And we found a penny, always a treat.

We pushed on. The sun set. And finally, just before 9:00, we pulled in to Shamrock, straight up the main drag from the south.

Why Shamrock? It is a charming enough little town, and like many other little old Texas towns we had passed through, shows the remains of many brighter, more prosperous days (this once was oil country; we had passed many field pumps, only one of which we could tell was in operation). There is a particular building here, known in days past as the U-Drop Inn, right on the ancient mother road, US Route 66. And in 2006, Pixar featured it in the animated town of Radiator Springs as Ramone's Paint Shop in the delightful movie Cars -- which our son Carson adores.

There we were, motoring through Shamrock, looking for a hotel for the night, and suddenly there it was, ablaze in green and red neon. Ramone's. (I knew it was coming, but not certain where, nor that it would be lit up.) If Route 66 used to be adorned with places like this, it really must have been something.

The U-Drop Inn building (also known as Tower Conoco or the Tower Building) in Shamrock, Texas, lit up at night.

There's a McDonald's just past the U-Drop Inn building, which is never my preferred stop but is a known quantity, so we pulled in for a modest dinner -- the kids got meals with toys, naturally, but I had just a chicken sandwich and coffee and Val made do with just the coffee. (Food from McDonald's or any restaurant of its class works best when one aims low and expects little. The chicken sandwich was actually pretty good.) The toys, silly things that they are, interested the kids (wired from a long day in the car, even well-equipped) more than the food did.

There is a hotel adjacent to the U-Drop Inn, just across the street; we checked in. A brief rest, and we all went outside to look at Ramone's, armed with camera and video. Carson and Amalie both were energetic -- they needed to blow off kid steam -- and a bit tense. This was, at least, the longest single driving day they'll have to endure -- nine hours, stops included.

Amalie and Carson celebrate old U.S. Route 66.

I surprised Val and myself in that, after our lunch break, I felt refreshed, really great. I handled the entire drive, though when at last we stopped I was stiff. To be expected; not enough sleep, very long day of driving. We've got about another 400 miles ahead of us today as well, but the first 100 are a straight shot on Interstate 40 (to Amarillo), and we'll get an earlier start. Plus I slept like a log, so I'm ready.

Onward!

The Road Trip, part 1

Val has just started her four week sabbatical -- the last of these generous breaks, as company policy has changed -- and we're taking advantage of it, hitting the road before Amalie's school year starts in late August.

Day 0 -- Preparation

Today Val went on one of her cleaning binges, while I plowed through dishes and laundry and all the usual. She emptied out the car, vacuumed it, washed it late at night at our nearby do-it-yourself automat. To add to the splashy fun, she took the kids, who had great fun putting in all the quarters.

The dear wife also lugged down from the attic a car roof rack I didn't even remember us having. It fit her old car, a Mitsubishi Mirage, apparently purchased back in the days when biking or kayaking were intended to be routine activities. Off to the rack dealer, where new fittings for a Honda Civic were acquired, and when she came back the rack was mounted (and, in a pinch, can be quickly modified to haul bikes or kayaks, should the need arise). Along with a new roof duffle, we had more cargo space than ever before.

The USS Civic, fully loaded with roof rack and back window sunscreens (blankets for curtains).

Growing up -- teeth edition

Amalie's two top center incisors had been growing looser for several days, maybe more than a week. She didn't tell us when they first got wiggly. When we had corn on the cob recently, I had to trim the corn off for her. So when last Friday rolled around, she showed me how they had progressed -- both very loose, wobbly. I told her that it was likely neither tooth would still be in her mouth by Monday.

She got upset. I tried to reassure her that it was just a part of growing up, but that didn't help at all. But, there was nothing for it.

On Saturday, one tooth popped out, unfortunately with a lot of blood. She polka-dotted a paper towel. She was a bit distressed but, now that it was over, she perked up a bit.

On Sunday, the other fell out, and this time she was downright ebullient about it. Two teeth! Out! And she's not even thinking about the Tooth Fairy -- they're saved in a little Tupperware container.

First grade starts in just under a month, and many of the children will be in a similar state. Along with her bottom tooth which is being quite pokey-slow to grow in, her smile for now looks like this:



I love this girl, my young lady.

Deciding Where Home (Field) Will Be

For a variety of reasons, some of which will be touched on below, in 2003 Major League Baseball decided to assign home field in the World Series -- Games 1, 2, 6*, and 7* (* if necessary) -- to the team whose league won that season's All-Star Game. Prior to this, MLB had simply switched leagues each year (2002 had been an AL year, 2001 an NL year, etc...) for decades, which worked just fine. This newer method is, I think, no better or worse than the predecessor, but it riles up a lot of fans and, as fans, they then make a lot of noise about it.

Someone on a message forum I frequent asked me if I liked this method, or would prefer a different approach, suggesting that better season W-L record between the two league champions should be the method of choice. I replied, and it ended up a lot longer than I thought, enough so that it would make a good blog post. So here it is, with a cold start talking briefly about the National Football League and how it does not use home fields for its climactic game, the Super Bowl (not even once by sheer luck).

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The NFL puts the Super Bowl at a neutral site which is always either warm-weather or cold-weather but indoors -- because while real football fans (of which, I am not one) will put up with sitting through a blizzard (shirt off, beer held high, team colors painted on), the corporate sponsors who show up for this one game only want none of that. The SB isn't for the fans anyway, and the NFL knows it.

I do not give a damn about how World Series homefield is decided. Simply alternating leagues each season worked fine for decades. The worst thing Selig did was not implementing the "ASG decides" method -- it was merely raising homefield as an issue, which it was NOT. The problem is artificial, so the solution is meaningless. (But it did get fans' attention, so that keeps it in the spotlight, which is a positive -- free hype.)

Neutral site is simply an awful idea for baseball. (The SB benefits from being one day, one game, and having a full week or two before with zero games -- allows great flexibility, and with all the events the NFL stuffs in that window, there is a need to KNOW the location beforehand.)

I don't like "best record" because, even with the interleague virus thriving 12 seasons on, the leagues are MOSTLY hermetic -- and the unbalanced schedule (neither good nor bad, simply there) means that a division with more than one really good (or really bad) team can beat itself up and have an 85-win champion, whereas one good team in a weak division can pummel its way to 100 wins. Put these in opposite leagues, sift their way through the first two rounds, and what teams show up for the World Series tells us, well, nothing. I don't like the term, but "strength of schedule" is ignored -- or worse, if incorporated, makes the homefield assignment method that much more needlessly complex. It works, one supposes, in the NHL and NBA because those teams intermix conferences heavily during the season, and the interminable playoff tournament ensures that no quick-lucky playoff team makes it to the finals (and as noted, homefield is a non-issue in the NFL for the last game). (As an aside, in general I don't care what the lesser sports do, and dislike citing them as obvious alternative solutions. Baseball should answer its own questions in whatever manner works best for its own house. The pro leagues operate similarly in big ways but the differences become important down in the details.)

Ah! But the AL and NL DO interact during the season, for a longer and truer test than just the ASG. We have interleague play, Selig loves it (its his baby), why not use it? Back in 2003, when the "ASG decides" proposal was first floated, some sportswriter (and I dearly wish I could remember whom, he deserves credit) suggested a three-point system, where two points decides WS homefield:

The leagues would earn one point for:
1. winning the All-Star Game;
2. winning the season interleague series (full leagues, not just the two champion teams);
3. best record between the two league champions.

I like this. It keeps Seligula's idea in play, which is not a bad thing, just clunky (like so many of his initiatives) and overrated. It adds "meaning" to the season's interleague competition (and gives a much clearer concept of which league really IS stronger) -- since we are stuck with it, let's have interleague do a bit more heavy lifting. And it puts the "best record" thing in there to mollify (however briefly) the hotheads who think that is the One True Method (which it is not, for baseball, but worth adding just for the measure of peace and quiet it would bring). (#3 is actually a bit twiggy, if an LCS goes seven and the playing teams bracket the other league champion, that leaves mere days lead time. Perhaps cumulative record of the four playoff teams per league, which then resolves the question in late September, end of the season at latest.)

I like this -- or at least find it inoffensive. It has something for most fans, it adds a bit of drama (could be decided by July, might not be decided until October), also adds a bit of fun, is a tiny bit more complex while staying far removed from being complicated (win two points of three -- could hardly be simpler). People will hate it, but it has something to hate for everyone, so it would be accepted, grudgingly, as tolerable.

Three-point system. If we have to impose some sort of Grand Solution upon World Series homefielding, let's do this.

Remember, WS homefield was NEVER AN ISSUE before Selig made it one. It was quite typical for him: see a problem (players not taking the ASG "seriously", managers not prioritizing winning first), define it poorly, and then apply a completely wrong solution. The players don't much like this "ASG decides" factor.

Realize why the players stopped taking the ASG seriously. The AL and NL once were distinct and had league identities. That is now all but gone, largely by Selig's hand. Umpires unified, league presidencies abolished, interleague play. Add to this how much MLB uses the ASG for marketing (most crass example: Nomo starting in 1995 as Maddux was suddenly "injured". Purely on merit Maddux deserved the start, but Nomo was the hot item on the world scene). Without league identity, league pride, the players are out there for show and only their individual competitive spirit to inspire them. And often, it showed -- consider Walker batting righty against Johnson. MLB reduced the ASG to a pony show -- marketing over a quality competition -- and some of the players caught on and treated it in kind. Selig was getting desperate, so after that 2002 muck-up, he went with this "ASG decides" theme as a way of getting the ASG back in the saddle. It was clumsy, it was ham-handed, no one likes it -- classic Selig, isn't it?

We're stuck with it, and I really don't care about it. Don't love it, don't hate it -- it simply IS NOT THAT DAMN IMPORTANT.

But I would enjoy the three-point system, mainly because (a) it'd be fun, (b) unify fans and media -- they'll all find fault with it but recognize that, okay, THEIR idea got wedged into the mix so at least SOMETHING was done partially right, and (c) attach some value to ALL interleague games, not just the headliner series in Chicago and Noo Yawk. (I could easily live without interleague, but it's here to stay so let's put it to work.)

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Just thinking a bit further -- I do like the third point being cumulative record among the four league playoff teams rather than just the champion team, perhaps with interleague games subtracted (which could be bothersome as not all teams play the same number of IL games). And it would cause a hue and cry if one team, some season, played one less game due to rainout and never replayed it, and that one missing game made the difference in determining the point. See, here's the slippery slope -- try to add just a little complexity to make the entire concept more "fair", and all sorts of factors pop up that were not obvious at first. sigh. Assigning World Series homefield should not be as tangled a mess as, say, playoff tiebreakers. There's just no pleasing some people.

Jumping to the other ship

We'd been members of Sam's Club, the warehouse wholesale branch of Wal-mart, for years. Way back in the day, our annual membership had been free, which is how we got started. And there are some things worth buying in bulk -- detergent, paper towels, and so forth. And then, when the kids arrived, we found the best secret in Sam's -- the house-brand diapers. Less expensive than Pampers or any other name brand offered, and they worked fine and fit better.

I'm not much of a fan of Wal-mart -- I don't shop there unless I've run out of other options. But I was willing to shop at Sam's Club, as it served a purpose financially, there was no other warehouse club in range, and the diapers were really good.

Costco opened a store in North Austin around 2001, and I got the complimentary one-year starter membership, but never renewed because the location was no advantage. That changed recently; Costco opened a South Austin store last year.

And, about six months ago, we stopped needing diapers. And this is very, very much a good thing. (Way to go, Carson!)

When our Sam's membership came up for annual renewal in May, I let it go, rounded up the kids, and off we went to Costco. We signed up a few weeks ago, and they still had me in their records.

So far, all is good. Prices are comparable, location is not bad, and the product selection is similar, sometimes identical. Plus they sell sushi trays (including huge sushi trays), which I haven't yet tried but am anticipating with enthusiasm.

There are a number of Wall Street advisers who don't like Costco because they sacrifice some potential profitability in favor of treating the employees well, and the CEO doesn't pull down some obscene, eight-figure salary. On the whole, Costco has a better moral and ethical position than Sam's (Wal-mart, remember; nothing more need be said). Well, Wall Street is packed full of assholes, so to hell with them. Out here in the real world, Costco serves us well.

Buh-bye, Sam's Club. Hullo, Costco.

Summer movie reviews #5 -- The Incredible Hulk

Marvel is on a roll, and it looks like they know it.

Their newest release, The Incredible Hulk, is a treat. This is the Hulk movie we didn't get in 2003, and what the 1970s television series never could feasibly deliver.

This time, Hulk SMASHES!!! As he should.

It cribs some concepts from the TV series -- Banner's gamma overdose happens in the lab, not a bomb test site -- but stays faithful to the original comics. Poor Bruce is always on the run, trying to figure out a way to cure himself from his condition, loving and missing his brilliant girlfriend, whose tunnel-vision general father will stop at nothing to capture Banner and learn how to weaponize the Hulk effect.

Hulk smashes things. And unlike the TV series or the previous movie, in this one he does talk, just a little, much like he did (of necessity) in the comics.

General Ross authorizes another gamma treatment on a gung-ho career soldier who wants to go head-to-head with Hulk, and so we get a full-blown slugfest that wrecks uptown Manhattan. (In the old comics, New York always got all the abuse from hero-villain fights. Always. Now, this made some practical sense, because Marvel's offices were and are in New York, so the writers and artists liked blowing up the ol' hometown. But geez, why would anyone keep living there? Property values can be trashed with a single ray beam or missed super-punch. Marvel's New York was easily the world's most dangerous city.)

A closing cameo by Tony Stark hints at the next Marvel movie, and judging by recent efforts, it should be a rocking blast.

Three stars of five. Great summertime, popcorn-class, beat-em-up, knock-down, drag-out movie.

Peach Picking Season

It's June, and in Texas Hill Country -- which Austin sits at the very eastern edge of -- that means peaches.

We didn't get around to peach picking last year, and though we did in 2006, Carson was too young (one) to really appreciate the fun. So we set out this past week to haul in a half-bushel of peaches by our own sweat and muscle. (We missed strawberry season this year as well, but as long as we get one or the other, it's enough.)

In recent years only two orchards still have pick-your-own hours. In 2006 we went to Psencik Farms, but this year we returned to our 2005 pick site, Marburger Orchard. Carson was a mere baby last time we were here, lying on a blanket underneath the peach trees. This time he got to help, and engaged the picking action with gusto.

Peaches! Peaches!

We got the standard half-bushel carton, strolled down the orchard lane to the ripening trees -- Harvester peaches were in season. The trees were heavily laden, and the picking was easy. I showed Carson how to give the peach a twist and tug; those ready for picking pop off easily, and any that resist should be left hanging. I gave Carson a shoulder-ride for a bit so he could reach the higher fruit. Both kids couldn't pick fast enough; we were in the trees maybe 20, no more than 30 minutes before the carton was topped off.

Amalie tops off our half-bushel.

So many choices (and this is only one branch).

One side benefit of picking your own peaches is getting to eat a few, as fresh as possible, immediately off the tree. Most that we picked went into the carton, of course, but I found at least two that were at critical sweetness, demanding to be eaten. I left nothing but the pit (Harvester peaches are freestones; the pit comes free easily).

A sweaty headband, a smear of sunscreen, and a bursting peach... a moment of Heaven on Earth.

Marburger kindly has one of their hands drive around with an electric cart, helping haul the filled cartons back to the parking lot. Amalie lifted the carton onto the cart -- pretty good, it weighs around 25 pounds full -- and both kids climbed aboard, leaving Val and me to saunter back up the lane at our ease, under the big Texas sky, a perfect blue afternoon, hot but not brutally so, humidity comfortable.

The day's catch draped jauntily over the fender, the intrepid peach hunters set out back to the lodge for a hearty dinner and an evening of tales of adventure.

The kids rinsed off at the pump and drank their fills, we bought the orchard's last green beans of the day, and repaired to historic Fredericksburg for a delicious German lunch, knockwurst and pastrami and potato salad and such, with a last visit to the local ice cream parlor. Both kids were fast asleep when we pulled into the driveway while the sun was going down.

Since then... the peaches are ripening, perfect for eating. I sliced up about 25 and brought them to Carson's Montessori school on Friday, where the kids gladly wiped them out at snack time. Maybe I'll try making a cobbler. We're making a dent in the carton, trying not to waste any, but it really is more than we can consume ourselves. Maybe the daycare kids get another bowlful next week. Fresh Texas peaches really are scrumptious.

Frustrations in Parenting

You remind your youngest child repeatedly "don't spill your cup of milk". Over and over -- it's a dad thing -- continue reciting the admonition even after it clearly has sunken in and he in fact does not spill his milk.

And then your older child inadvertently clobbers the cup of milk.

sigh.

30something

The dear wife had her birthday two weekends ago -- the last of the calendar year in our family.

The day started well with Carson's last tee-ball game. Val works Saturdays but does try to get to one game per kid sport season, and the combination of her last chance, her birthday, and that she'd been working very hard (and late, and on off days) over the previous two weeks granted perfect alignment for taking a morning off.

The game went well, trophies were handed out at our GattiTown pizza party, and she took her leave to put in a half-day at the office. The kids and I returned home and baked a cake; easy enough. Then we made the traditional buttercream frosting; also easy. Divvied the frosting into four bowls because, of course, food coloring comes in four colors -- blue, green, red, and yellow. We mixed up four small batches of each. I then carefully spread it on, taking care not to get cake crumbs swept up as with cakes past. The cake turned out pretty good, roughly quartered with different colors. And not a spoon nor spatula went unlicked.

Val arrived home and, even more than usual, was rushed by the kids. They had not only to welcome her, but show her the cake AND help her find the scattered presents. With two eager, young assistants (who knew where every gift was lurking), this took but moments.

The haul: a pound of organic coffee, a bar of hand-crafted soap (also coffee; better than it sounds), hand-drawn cards from the kids, a jar of caramel corn-and-sunflower-seeds (a bit disappointing; not bad, but not great), a bottle of wine (wrapped in ribbon, which is a lot more difficult than I'd expected), a bar of white chocolate, a DVD movie (Chocolat), and maybe one or two other small things I've forgotten. The kids helped unwrap everything, like always.

And then we ate cake. Well... some of us ate cake. Smaller people ate frosting by the fingerful. The cake was soon plowed into rows and ready for planting. Oh dear; well, the purpose was served. Another fine birthday celebration.

Turning the page on kindergarten

Amalie finished her kindergarten year at Casey Elementary this past Wednesday, June 4th.

Austin Independent School District has promoted her to first grade for the fall semester.

She nailed, utterly nailed her fourth quarter: every subject a "4", top of the scale.

She's now enjoying her first official summer vacation, and a well-earned one after what was quite a year.

And she's got another tooth coming loose.

The 2008 Tee-ball Season

When the local kid soccer league was in progress back in March-April, it was also time to register for the following Saturday sport, tee-ball. Carson said yes, Amalie no. She'd played last year and didn't want to again, not this time. Fine. I signed up Carson and checked the "I'll coach" box on the registration form.

So I got to be an official coach, with the tee shirt and everything, along with my co-coach Ray. I drove around to various Academy sporting goods stores getting the small, unadorned caps to match our red shirts. We named ourselves the Red Rockets. Ray and I worked on some very basic practice drills -- fielding, throwing, hitting, running. Our roster, eleven boys total, were all three years old, so getting any lessons to stick is a triumph. I think the basic throwing motion, of stepping with the glove-side foot first, was our biggest success. Some of the youngsters have pretty good cannons for their age!

We played six games over a seven-week schedule (no games on Memorial Day weekend), which included one rescheduled due to rainout, and seven practices. Almost everyone showed up every time, frequently with both parents or even a grandparent. And the families all helped out -- snack suppliers, extra game coaches, ball collecting, basic shepherding. It worked out really well.

Tee-ball for three year olds is a very basic form of baseball -- everyone bats in every inning (we never played more than two), the last batter runs all the way around, there's no outs, no score kept, fielding is usually the first one to get to the ball and everyone is playing the infield (boys and girls this small just don't have slugging power). Oh, I think we did ingrain another lesson: when you're all on the same team and wearing the same shirt, it doesn't matter who gets the ball, just that someone does. Teamwork.

Ray and I handed out, after each game, gold stars for hitting excellence, silver stars for defensive displays, and blue stars for various creative contributions -- getting dirty (always a sign of dedication to the craft), taking a ball off the shoulder, willing to bat while still wearing the glove. By the end of our short season, every player had earned at least one gold and one silver, and most had a blue as well -- but no mistake, every one was earned.

Ray said that coaching the Red Rockets was ten times more fun than he expected it would have been, and I completely agree with that.

We adjourned, after the final game, to our local GattiTown for pizza, trophies, and games. Every player gets a league trophy, and I gave each player two packs of Topps baseball cards as well. The parents showered Ray and me -- custom tee shirts with handprints from each player, trophies of our own, and gift cards to a local restaurant. Quite a treat (and thank you very much!) for us.

Watching these youngest rookies improve from the first practice to the last game was sheer delight, as was simply introducing them to the greatest game on Earth, baseball. To me, they were all champions.

The 2008 Red Rockets: my own Carson, Christopher, David, Ian, Jaidyn, Jalen, John-Michael, Liam, Logan, Matthew, and Mikah. You guys, and your families, were great. It was my honor to be your coach.

Summer movie reviews #4 -- Kung Fu Panda

Kid-centric movies get advertised to saturation on Nickelodeon. I understand this; easy enough to see why. And I kinda wanted to see Kung Fu Panda anyway. But my 6 year old daughter made sure I knew when it was coming out. So, today, after the weekend (and she's into her summer vacation), we went.

It rocks. Go see it.

The story is pretty standard -- a master must train a less-than-promising (disastrously chosen, even) disciple in order that the student may defeat the great adversary (who escapes his prison by virtue of the prison being inspected to ensure he cannot escape -- a predictable twist, but always a good one, that planning for one future activates the opposite destiny). The chosen one, a completely inept (but eager) panda named Po, is both challenged and assisted by the five advanced students, each of which hoped to be chosen as the Dragon Warrior until fate pushed Po in the way.

No one has confidence in Po, including himself, but he loves the kung fu discipline and prefers being bad at kung fu to being a noodle shop cook at any level of expertise. He won't quit, so train he must, and Master Shifu must in turn train him. Nothing goes well until Shifu realizes he must engage Po's love for the martial art with his other passion in order to drive him to excel.

There are two superb action sequences back-to-back: a training fight over the last lunch dumpling which is simply hilarious, brimming with martial arts cliches, and whiplashing action, immediately followed by a rope bridge battle that would be the showcase highlight were it not for the dumpling duel.

The animation is good, standard quality for 2008 with excellent lighting effects, and the voice acting is great. Plenty of well-known names, with Dustin Hoffman as Master Shifu being the very best of the bunch -- there's only a few times when he is identifiably Hoffman.

Four stars out of five.

Snap review from a 6 year old: "I liked it. Really good." She loved the dumpling fight, too.

Summer movie reviews #3 -- Iron Man

I don't read many comic books today -- a few, select ones, but my addiction days are a thing of distant past now. But Iron Man is one of the characters on which I cut my teeth, both as a reader and as a comics fan. The stories, such as I can recall (early 1970s), were okay, but it really was all about the suit. That magnificent suit and all the cool things it could do -- fly, protect, heat, cool, blaster rays ("repulsors"). And of course part of it was keeping Tony Stark alive as well, making it his curse and his blessing, in the standard Stan Lee/Marvel manner. One would think transistors could do anything.

CGI technology has finally caught up to what an Iron Man film would require, because it is, and it has to be, all about the suit. And it delivers hugely.

Munitions billionaire and engineering genius Stark gets kidnapped after demo'ing his newest product in Afghanistan. Builds a prototype suit from his own wares in order to escape, and does. He undergoes a change of heart when he sees what Stark Munitions have wrought around the world, and determines to build a better suit to use in making the world a better place. But other stockholders don't want the entire company repurposed, and co-opt the original design for a new military product. And we get a showdown between Iron Man and the alternative Iron Monster. Bang, zoom, pow!

Lead actor Robert Downey nails his part, and is much better in an action role than would be expected based upon his past body of work. Stark is smooth, damn smart, a smartass, and a fighter both on paper and in action -- not an easily-portrayed character. Downey brings it off very well.

Four stars out of five.

Marvel is building a movie-based universe analogous to its comic universe, and is doing it very, very well. I can't wait to see The Incredible Hulk in a few weeks.

Summer movie reviews #2 -- Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull

Now this is a summertime movie. Rollicking high adventure with some old friends and some new, worthy companions (and adversaries). Pity they couldn't work in Sallah.

Indy Jones is back, once again scraping by on smarts, determination, some skill and some luck. The adventure begins in that huge, mysterious warehouse we saw at the end of Raiders Of The Lost Ark, and soon the chases are on. Dr. Jones makes his escape in his usual style -- chaotic, destructive, and breathtaking.

It's 1957, so the Nazis are long gone, but the Communists step in as the bad guys well enough. After some excitement at his college campus (and not that I recognized anything in particular, but I know it was filmed in and around Yale University, which is somewhat familiar territory for me, so that was some bonus delight), and some cryptic code-breaking, Indy and his new sidekick are off in pursuit of the title artifact, a crystal skull... one which is evidently not human, and which does not belong in a museum.

This leads to a race through the jungles of South America, to the standard, ancient Lost City wherein the treasure may be achieved through the perils of flora, fauna, and clever traps engineered long, long ago. Indy & Co. weather everything, succeed in their quest, the bad guys get theirs, and the archaeological world is set to rights, with a climax Spielberg cribbed from some of his own, older movies (but it works just fine).

Five stars out of five.

Remember to breathe, because this one will take yours away.

Summer movie reviews #1 -- Speed Racer

I've already seen four movies this summer season, and will definitely see more. This is rare, rare for me -- I probably didn't see four movies in all of 2007.

First up, Speed Racer.

This film is a total popcorn flick, a live-action cartoon. Those who remember the anime series on TV decades ago -- like me -- will remember it with humor and some fondness. It was silly and cool.

The film comes barreling right at you, full throttle, gorgeous firecracker colors in huge swaths all over the screen, and loud loud loud. There is a plot, sort of, but it's not very important, nor is the story. This is about insane racing over, around, and through impossible tracks. Many of the original tropes are here -- the sound effects, the Mach 5's gimmicks, the annoying kid brother and chimpanzee (sigh). The acting suits the material, and even John Goodman (as Pops Racer) is subsumed into the color-saturated landscape (and it's hard to bury Goodman). Pure, energetic adrenaline.

Don't expect a lot, because you won't find it. Pure, simple fun is what Speed Racer delivers, and it does so very well.

Particularly thrilling: the race across the desert. Simply pulse-pounding.

Three stars out of five.

Snap review from a 3-year-old who is car-obsessed: "great!"

Not dead, merely resting

Ever have one of those times when you just didn't feel like blogging?

That was, like, all of May for me. And most of April.

The faucet is back on.

The Swallows Are Back, 2008

Yeah, I know I haven't finished the sea cruise yet.

Our swallows came back this past week -- but unfortunately for them, they didn't find their nest, as it fell down in December after several years' worthy service. So for a few nights they sat atop the window molding to sleep, but showed no indication of working to rebuild another nest.

So Valerie worked some magic with the old nest -- which we had kept -- a plastic cup, and some screws and braces, and remounted the nest in more or less the same location, along with some cut branches for decor or camouflage or just extra perching.

And the swallows weirded out and flew away for a couple of days.

And then they came back. Sat on the nest. Poked at it, assessed it, and must have decided it was indeed suitable, because they've settled in. We expect a clutch of hatchlings in two or three weeks, they are occasionally dive-bombing the cats, and the cats are ignoring them. So, just like in years past.

Silly birds -- but charming.