Camping and the epic stuck; or how I love my wife

I needed some time away, so I went camping. No kids, no wife. I had beer, food, and Boris.

I escaped from Chanhassen on Friday. The afternoon drew me farther from my normal life and closer towards the North Shore. By Happy Hour I was passing through Duluth towards Finland State Forest. It was here that I could camp, away from people and developed campgrounds. As I approached Crystal Bay and my turn off, the stress of my life was creeping away and supplanted by the stress of exploration; where was I gonna camp?

My apprehension was growing as I turned off down the nondescript forest road. What would I find? How long would it take? It was close to dinner time and I had yet to park, set up camp, and open my beer. And I was thirsty. The first promising turn off was just an open spot off the road. "Yep," I thought, it would do. I know it's here, can I do better? So back on the road. It was just another mile and I saw a break in the tress, a bit of gravel, and an open space. I eased into the clearing, and eureka, it was free and on a lake. This was the place.

Boris and I were alone. We heard quite a few loons. A few geese. There were other chirps & squawks that I knew not the source, but it mattered not. I heard no cars, ringing telephones, or mundane conversations. No food, toys, or bedtime negotiations. I heard the sounds of the coniferous forest, breathing, pulsing, living. As I watched Boris strut around, sniffing, running, exuberant, I was reminded of Rocky & Natasha. They would have joined Boris in this joy.

Saturday morning arose; wayyyy to early. As I puttered around making breakfast, brewing coffee, and packing up, it came to mind that I hadn't seen Boris in quite some time. "Boris." And back to the tasks at hand. A little over an hour later, truck packed and ready to go, in come the thundering sound of paws. He was panting, happy looking, and perky. He spent the rest of the weekend chained up. Poor fellow.

At first I was wondering about the shoreline. Next thing I know I had decided to drive to Canada. Not quite sure why. The drive there & back turned out to be relaxing & beautiful. We drove & walked down to a few beaches. Gazed at waterfalls. Traipsed across boulders and points. A wonderful afternoon excursion.

We got back to the beginning and found our lakeside spot taken. Oh well, another night was too good to be true. So we looped around and I tried another road into the wilderness. One that every 1/2 mile or so got narrower, and narrower, and narrower. I went through a short dogleg and found myself driving an ATV track with mud on the left and pilings on the right. This was the moment that I should of seen the stupidity of going further while alone. But no, I went on. I made it no more than 20 yards when I slid off of a piling and was sucked into the primordial goo.

(Insert litany of curses, rants, and numerous other not-safe-for-children comments.)

Somehow I got out and commenced to survey my epic and stupid stuck. As I went around the left rear I sunk up to my knees. Backing out was not an option. Time to get busy. I strapped up to the first decent piling and winched myself mostly out. Then on to the next piling to finished the extraction and straighten the truck out. Then time for a beer as I aired down and started to figure out what's next.

I walked another 75 yards or so and the pilings be came more numerous, many to tall to drive over. At this point both sides were muck, no going around. Yep, I had to return from whence I came. I drove forward about two truck lengths to a gap in the pilings and executed a 20-point turn around. One must realize that the firm dirt wasn't much wider than the truck was long. One must also realize that this is when I learned that my newly rebuilt transfer case would not stay in 4-low. I knew who was getting a call Tuesday. As I slowly crept over the pilings and made my way out I slowly relaxed. I was getting out without a thousand dollar tow truck bill. And I also failed to take a single picture.

It was late, I was tired and coming off of an adrenaline rush, and I didn't have a camp site. I bee-lined out to the main road and circled south and east to another forest road. Finally, a place to clean up, stow the rescue gear, and drink a beer. That night turned out to be very satisfying evening. I had seen beautiful sights, survived a bout of stupidity, and finished off with a tasty brew, delicious steak, and a relaxing cigar. Life is good.

I awoke Sunday and decided the trip was already successful. Shanna was leaving on Monday, so I'll just get home a day early to spend more time with her before her departure. This time I took some detours through Duluth seeing the Canal & Lake streets along with the famous lift bridge. And then it was back on the road. We stopped at the I35 General Andrews rest stop for lunch & a stretch. Boris enjoyed baying at the other dogs. He so wanted to play. Back in the truck and off we go.

What's that sound? The Toyota usually purrs like an old Singer sewing machine. But it now had a warble of something that said upcoming mechanical failure. I jumped out, lifted the hood, and had that "Yep, that's not good" realization. It sounded like it was the AC pump, something I can live without. Off we go. We gained another 50 miles when the freeway was at a standstill - and I had to pee. So I turned off at the Harris exit, pulled into a dirt lot and did my business. The map showed a detour east and south, but I didn't want to drive the stop & go. So back to the road towards the freeway.

(Insert another litany of curses, rants, and numerous other not-safe-for-children comments.)

I had a flat tire. Goodness, I backed up to a driveway and commenced to change the front-right tire. One kindly lady, not fully understanding I had a flat, stopped and asked if I knew of a way around the freeway blockage. I shared my map and off she went. Not another five minutes later a kindly gentleman stopped and asked if I had a map he could review in exchange for his assistance. By golly yes.

We made short work of it and off he went. I packed up, got Boris stowed away and fired the truck up. SCREEEEECH, purr. The warbly sound of impending doom was gone, replaced by the cold silence of the alternator and brake light warning lights. Hmmm. This exit had only a bait shop, not exactly the place to leave a truck. So, knowing full well that it was a matter of miles I made for the next exit, hoping it would have something more substantial. Within minutes the water temp gauge was pegged. Nope, this was more than the alternator, this was water pump.

(Insert another litany of curses, rants, and numerous other not-safe-for-children comments.)

I made it to exit 147 and parked at the first gas station, a Holiday. I turned it off and the truck started spewing green water and steam, groaning as it cooled off. I wasn't going anywhere. Another kindly gentlemen came over. We chit-chatted. He happened to live in Chanhassen and offered to carry me and Boris home. Not much room for any of the camping gear though. I called Shanna, explained my need of assistance, and off she started.

That was yesterday. We got almost everything important transferred over and back home. When I came into the house I received a stirring welcome from Liam. After the kids were put off to bed, some of the gear put away I had another cigar and then to the shower to clean the weekend's grime.

If you have made it this far through my rambling description of my weekend, you are almost complete. As one might guess, details are missing. But this much must be made clear; I am a lucky man. I had:

• Good camping. Great drive.
• Been stuck & unstuck
• Discovered incomplete transfer case rebuild.
• Had flat tire.
• Experienced mechanical failure.
• Wife and kids happy to see me.

This was a Memorial Day weekend that to me, would be memorial.

Life is good.

He's so big

With another birthday comes another doctor's visit. And so it was for Liam. He had his cake a couple of weeks ago, and now he had the needle & scale. To cut to the chase:
weight: 33 lbs 8 ozs
height: 37 3/4 inches

Another normal set of measurements for a normal boy.

Crying through coffee time

I'm sorry my cry'n kid ruined your day.

When we entered the coffee shop I knew it was gonna be a difficult visit. Liam walked in and immediately wanted to leave. I went in anyway. He wouldn't stay with me so I had to hold him while I got the eats & beverages. He was fussy the whole time, but settled as we sat down. He then started acting shy & withdrawn, head down, hands over eyes, not too engaging. I thought we had turned the corner when he ate some muffin & drank some milk.

And then the other parent & child joined us. Ka-Pow. Crying, struggling to get out of the chair, not responding to me. So I lifted him out and placed him on the floor. He spent the next fifteen minutes crying on the floor. The people next to me all commiserated, they had kids, they understood.

But not the middled-aged business man. They were "trying to have a meeting," Liam's crying was disturbing them and he asked if there was anything I could do. Sorry bud. Five minutes later an employee asked. Hmmm, you mean I still have been intentionally NOT doing anything I could be doing?

We left.

I do empathize with the patrons, but sheez louis. He wasn't being a brat, no throwing, no screeching, no yelling. Just crying. Am I expected to time the crying and leave after some magical, arbitrary length of time? Is there some bit of etiquette that would have me depart after said time period? We have kids, it's enough to protect them from you, now I have to protect you from them?

Was that applause after we left?

First flirtation with flamboyance

Galen got a Mohawk. 'Nuf said.

"Three Is a Magic Number."

Such a wonderful song from Schoolhouse Rock. Even more so today, it's Liam's third birthday. He has words - one can almost have a decent conversation. He likes counting - to three. He grabs Boris by the collar and pulls him around. And he adores him brother. Life is good.


And he likes cake-n-ice cream. Duh.