Falling Stars

One of the earliest memories I have of the trips happened the first year, with Dad, Mom and myself. We stopped at a motel in Cedar City, Utah and it was a warm clear Summers night. The motel I remember was very nice, all wood, inside and out, and was more of a cabin style motel that you could take walks around. The motel also had a swing set, and that was always a main attraction for me since I've always liked to get pushed on the swing and daydream. Dad mostly always was the person to push me on the swing and as far as I was concerned I could stay being pushed for hours. I'm sure Dad was glad when the time came that I was able to swing myself because if there was a swing set available I would insist to get a push for however long Dad was willing to put up with it.

This night in Cedar City, Dad and I took a walk around the motel grounds, it was dark and there was lots of insect sounds all around us, when we eventually made our way to the swing set, and I of course asked to be pushed on the swing. So like I said it was dark and Cedar City at the time was the middle of nowheres, so the stars in the sky were brilliant and bright, and Dad was showing me the stars. All of a sudden a shooting star went past, I had never seen one before and probably missed it all together, but Dad got very excited and tried to point it out to me during that fleeting moment. Dad began to explain to me about "falling stars", and all I could think of was the actual stars we were looking at falling from the sky, remember I was only about 4 years old and the concept of astronomy wasn't all that clear yet to me. So after a little while another falling star went by, (I'm sure this time I missed it) but Dad stopped the swing and pointed my whole body in the direction of the falling star, like I was going to somehow catch it moments after it had passed. By now the swinging was coming to an end and Dad and I sat on one of the 2 person swings and tried to catch a glimpse of another falling star. Many falling stars did come by and Dad would always perk up when he saw one, I always attempted to see it but never could quite get my reflexes to react and actually see one. Dad was calling this a "meteor shower", which seemed kind of funny since showers were always wet, and included sprays of liquid, not the occasional and elusive dot that I never saw. I however was being polite and every time Dad pointed out another falling star I would agree that I saw it too. At one point I thought I did see a falling star, it was about the size of a golf ball and it landed in the bushes right in front of us, and I noticed how slow and floaty these falling stars actually were, it also made a noise like a cricket.

Dad and I stayed out by the swing set for hours, looking up at the sky and the stars, talking about the universe.

The Big Thompson River Flood

The most exciting storm by far was the great Estes Park flood in 1976. We followed what seemed to be the same storm all the way into Colorado and into our ultimate destination, Estes Park. The storms always became most severe in the afternoon and into the evening, clearing to blue skies in the morning leaving the impression that the bad weather was over, but it always returned in the afternoon and with the same ferocity as the night before. In Estes Park things seemed normal as it always has been and we went about the traditional routine of miniature golf, go carts and eating in the usual plain cuisine tourist restaurants.

Dad wanted to stay in a cabin down in the Big Thompson river canyon, The Chief, which had a Indian head for a sign logo and was a set of cabins we had stayed before the year I went on the trip with my friend Oliver. The cabins offered not much more than a bed and a place next to the river to fish and look at, but this year was an Olympic Games year and we had been following some of the events, participating in a McDonalds contest where we could win free food if the American athlete won a medal, so it was vitally important to keep track of the events. The cabins Dad planned to stay at had electricity and lights, and that was about it for technology. Mom just about had a fit and was refusing to stay in a desolate cabin with no TV while the rest of us went hiking and go carting. So my Dad graciously agreed to have us stay in a more modern motel a few miles up and much closer to town. Note: We checked into the Mountain 8 Inn for the first time that year, and Dad has stayed in that same motel consecutively ever since. Things were relatively happier now that we had visibly upgraded accommodations and television to pass the times of boredom.

That night it rained harder than I’ve ever seen it rain in Estes Park in my whole life. It was actually quite exciting and fun, and we watched the downpour from the balcony. Then a bolt of lightening hit the swimming pool, maybe 50 yards away from us. It was so close I can remember noticing that lightening looked solid, like a tree trunk, but blindingly bright. The immediate thunder practically knocked us on our butts, and even Dad was a bit taken back, we all went into the room and watched the rain from the window while the Olympics played on TV. It rained all night and Ted in the middle of the night got up, went to the window and started having a conversation, waking everybody up, and then he went back to sleep. We mentioned it to him the next day and he denies remembering any of it happening.

The next day was no different than what we had come to expect, the skies were blue and the sun was shining. Dad, Ted and I, had planned to hike Longs Peak that day and things seemed ideal to go out and spend time in the Rocky Mountains. We knew it rained a lot last night and it wasn’t surprising to expect there to be a bit of a mess in town the next day, evidence of flooding and water damage was not surprising and we generally ignored it as typical as we bought some supplies at the market and went into the park for our hike. Generally you are supposed to start very early in the morning to hike Longs Peak so you can make it up and back and beat the lightening that usually occurs in the afternoon (more people die from lightening on high peaks than from falling) But we didn’t intend to make it to the summit and the late start was irrelevant. We hiked up the trail through the forested part and got up above the timber line where there was a vast field of boulders leading to the peak. By this time the clouds began to roll in and the weather was looking gloomier, Dad thinking he was vastly familiar with the terrain decided to take a shortcut and bypassing the defined trail across the boulder field, which is fine if you can see ahead of you and where you want to go. But the clouds moved in fast and we found ourselves in dense fog. Quickly we became disoriented and concerned about which direction to move to, that and the fact that the danger of lightening was a real threat we agreed it was best to make our way back down. Even id someone moved a few feet ahead of you, you could lose sight of them through the fog, and without a defined trail we relied on dead reckoning to make our down. When we finally reached a trail we were still confused about which direction was back down, or leading up to the summit. We all agreed to a direction which happily turned out to be correct and we descended below the cloud cover and the fog gradually cleared so we could see far enough ahead of us to be confident again. But as we got below the cloud we entered into the rain, and the rest of the 4 mile decent to the trail parking lot was through constant and fairly heavy rain. Of course we were unprepared for rain and only wore our hiking clothes and a light jacket appropriate for typical summer weather, so the hike down was somewhat miserable, cold and very wet. Thankfully we were going down hill which at least made the hiking easier and let us think about other things to distract us from the cold rain. So silently and steadily we made our way down the mountain to the car.

By the time we got back to the motel we were freezing and even the hot shower had little effect on the chill for a long time, it was not a good hike. And when we returned, my mom was slightly panicked with the news about the town that we had ignored on our way to the mountain. Apparently it had rained something like 14 inches in 2 hours last night, the town was severely flooded and very damaged. The dam leading down the canyon with the cabin we were supposed to stay in had broken and severely flooded the canyon. We realized that we would've been staying in an area hit worst by the floods and mudslides,but changed at the last minute at my mom’s insistence. We found out that many people are dead and missing… no exaggeration. Across the highway from the motel we were watching National Guard helicopters landing for rescue missions, and later bringing bodies of victims to be transported to other locations. Mom was very upset and wanted to go home, but it looked like access out of Estes Park was limited for a day or two and we had to stay for a day or two.

All telephone communications were cut off and food and water was being rationed, It was all very exciting. We went across the way to a little restaurant, and Mom wanted to get something comforting from the bar, and we met this guy who was helping in the rescue efforts, he drove a blazer, (which we now call a SUV), but at that time only people with a reason to drive a blazer drove one. He was part of the CB radio organization in town and was helping with communication efforts as well. My mom got into a conversation with him and I guess he was generally a nice guy, kind of a tough truck driving macho man, and he offered to relay a message to our families, via CB radio down to Boulder, saying we were okay. Dad began to talk with him and was tempted to help out in the rescue efforts down in the canyon. The guy seemed a little reluctant taking Dad and explained that rescuers generally came equipped with their own rescue gear, like ropes, shovels and appropriate clothing, so this effectively discouraged Dad and he was forced to watch the excitement from the sidelines.

When we finally contacted Ted’s family a few days later, they were more confused by the message that got sent to them, knowing we were in a flood but not the extent of the disaster, but assuming we were okay. The call they received was vague and short of information and only concerned and panicked them further, but they were all relieved we were okay.

Cats

We were in a town called Quincy, and we were getting ready to leave in the morning when this nice orange cat come up to us. I started playing with the cat and it was paying a lot of attention to us. Dad saw this and took a liking to the cat and named it "Quincy", after the town we were in. The cat didn't go away so Dad thought it would be a good idea if we took the cat with us. Now the cat probably belonged to someone and thinking back probably would've hated being in the car, but Dad really tried to convince Mom to let him take the cat, using me as an excuse since I fell in love with it. Mom pointed out we were in my Grandmothers car and that we had already made enough mess without having a live animal. Mom then treated Dad like a little kid who brought home a stray puppy, she simply said "no".

But this set the stage for future cat events, and we were to find out that Dad basically gets his way one way or another. A little history: My whole life I've known Dad I've never known him to ever hold a job. He must have made money somehow, or else how could we have spent entire Summers on the road living out of Motels and visiting roadside attractions? But Dad never, as long as I've been around, had a real job, except for the job at UCLA in the Neurological Research Lab taking care of the test animals. From what I have been told this is one of those labs where they would plug electrodes into animals brains to see what would happen, I'm always reminded of those anti-vivisection picture of the cat or the monkey with all the wires sticking out of their brains with their expression a mixture of pain and bewilderment. Well, my Dad worked in one of these scientific labs as a technician, taking care of the test animals, mostly cats. For many years afterward Dad still carried his UCLA identification card and often used it to get discounts, or impress people at cocktail parties, even though the expiration date was 1962. On more than one occasion when asked what he did for a living Dad would answer he was in "neurological research", even more than 30 years after the fact. Once when I was in school, I think the 3rd grade, we were asked to tell what our dad's did for a living, Everyone else had answers like; "president of a big oil company", "a doctor", "Center for the LA Lakers"... but when they got to me I was stumped, and the only thing I could think of was "scientist". I think this amused the teacher and she mentioned it to my Mom later, but I was truly at a loss at what my dad "did". From then on I was told that "...he is in investments.", and that became my answer for years to come.

But getting back to the story, Dad worked in this research lab where they basically tortured cats for scientific purposes, and I think that while Dad found this fascinating and necessary toward the progress of science, he might've felt some sense of wrong and truly felt sorry for the animals. I was told he was fired from that job for letting the cat out of their cages to experience a little freedom, Dad was upset and frustrated when telling how the doctors didn't like the way he treated the cats with compassion. Before leaving that job Dad was able to take one of the cats home and it lived at my grandparents house for many years, the cat's name was Psycho and he was never very friendly to me.

So Dad always had an affinity for stray or needed cats, especially on the trips and it became another tradition to find and take a kitten along in the car for the journey. The first cat I can recall getting was a gray Russian Blue cat we named Jerky. I forgot exactly where Jerky came from, probably a free kitten given away in front of a grocery store, but Dad picked up this cat somewhere and brought him along on the trip with us. The first thing we needed to take care of was the cat box situation, this was solved by lining a cardboard box bottom with a plastic garbage bag filled with kitty litter, and placing it on the floor of the back seat behind Dad, and opposite the ice chests. For the most part this worked well since cats pretty much know from the very beginning that the box is the place to go, and emptying the box of cat poo was fairly simple by just stopping by the side of the road and dumping the unwanted litter out and replacing it with clean Johnny Cat. However, after a while the smell did become a permanent passenger in the car and spillage was unavoidable, we all began to learn how much a person could get used to if having to live with it in a confined space over a long period of time. Adding to the mess and odor was the food and water situation for the cat, especially the water dish (an empty cat food can) that would always spill and mix with the dry food and stray kitty litter. Us kids learned to avoid that section of the car all together and ignored the chaos until it became too disgusting, or Dad ordered one of us to deal with it. Except for the occasional times where the cat would get underneath the brake or accelerator pedals, making it difficult for Dad to drive safely, the cat did quickly become accustomed with driving in the car and Jerky's habits conformed to ours in no time.

But, there was also the problem of having pets in the motels, which at the time most motels forbid any kind of pets, and for good reason. All of us then had to get used to the fact of hiding the cat from the management (as well as occasionally sneaking one of us in) and us kids became very stealthy at including the cat in our motel activities. On a few occasions the management did catch us with the cat and became angry, either threatening to kick us out or charge us additional for the potential mess. Dad would always somehow talk his way out of it or agree to keep the cat in the car overnight, but nobody ever liked it. Jerky did however become part of our family and when he was brought home Mom was initially not happy and reluctant to accept Jerky, in fact Jerky was to become one of the favorite cats of all time and even Mom became extremely fond of Jerky and he was one of the favorite cats. This was great, but also started a dangerous precedence, since now bringing the cat home from the trip was proved successful, Dad had to find a cat on every trip since.

Jerky was probably the only successful cat story I can recall on the trips. There were a few trip I didn't attend that my sisters went on and they relayed stories of getting a kitten, that after a few days was not able to withstand the heat and stress of traveling, and died in the car. I assume this was sad and traumatic for my sisters, and a great disappointment for Dad, but after a few days of mourning they would inevitably come across more free kittens and have another companion for the road.

The year Ted and the family was on the trip, Dad showed up again with a black kitten. Us kids were delighted but Mom was furious. The cat had diarrhea and immediately made a few messes either in the car of in the motel room, so we named him "Spot". Ted thought this name was appropriate and funny and even Mom had a chuckle, but Spot wasn't happy, or happy to be around. The car was already crowded and full of all kinds of different smells, and the cat only added to the stress and unhealthy factor to our group, and from then on Mom began to make plans. One day well into the trip, Dad took all of us kids on some event for a couple of hours and left mom with the cat in the motel room, when we returned Spot was mysteriously missing and Mom appeared both angry and unconcerned. Dad immediately had a fit and accused Mom of foul play, demanding an explanation, Mom only responded with cool and calculated denial. The rest of us kids suspected many things but mostly kept quiet.

Having a cat was always Dad's thing, an unexplained need for a mascot. Dad often recalls the time he was traveling in his '55 Thunderbird and picked up an alligator lizard somewhere down South. He kept the live alligator on the dashboard of the car as he drove along and I guess it kept him company or something. He then tells that he was racing to catch a ferry, and cut it so close that he actually jumped the ramp onto the ferry before it left. Well, this angered the ferry captain so much that he stuck his head into Dad's window and yelled obscenities into his face. This apparently got a reaction out of the alligator who reared up and hissed at the captain (like a cat) This so amused the ferry captain seeing this strange creature hiss at him that he forgot about being angry at Dad and let him pass through without trouble. So having a pet seems to be essential to Dad on the trips, and since we couldn't get alligator lizards anymore, cats were the next best thing.

Motels - part 4. Teepee's & Waterbeds

So as long as I'm talking about motels I should probably mention some of the more memorable ones, memorable in a unique and often strange sort of way. It was not unlike Dad to every so often treat us to a novelty motel or maybe one with something extra to offer. At first the big treat was to get a room with a "Magic Fingers" vibrating bed. This was always an exciting treat, at least at first, but after a while the novelty wore off and it ceased to be a benefit anymore. Dad however always took advantage of the vibrating bed, especially after a long drive, I assumed it was comforting and relaxing to stagnant and sore muscles. I now think the intention for the "Magic Fingers" was probably something more "adult" in nature rather than for tired truckers and other travelers, but these were far more innocent times for us and the thought that the vibrating beds were somehow abused for carnal pleasure never occurred to us, it was just an extra perk much like the coffee machines in the room or free fly swatters.

There were also little minor details about some motels that make them stick out in my mind, like the pool with the peace sign painted on the bottom. Don't ask me why I remember this but it always remains in my memory, probably because we had an especially fun squirt gun fight in that pool. Dad would get us a set of squirt guns to horse around with in the pools and this was especially fun on hot days and worked well to blow off pent-up steam from being in the car for hours. The ongoing goal was to find quality squirt guns that shot long and powerful streams. Dad had found for himself this strange little squirt gun toy device that was a little red plastic barrel with a periscope type squirter coming from the top. Not only did it have a hefty squirt that could give a slight sting if shot directly in the eye, but it had the most water holding capacity which gave Dad the advantage while the rest of us were reloading. The water gun fights could get rambunctious but never lasted very long and resulted in serious injury. Another game I remember playing in the peace sign pool was where Dad would throw a nickle in the deep end when we weren't looking and we were challenged to dive in and find it. This was a more mature game and went far to strengthen my swimming skills and breath holding ability. Having the painted peace sign bottom of the pool just made the task more challenging and fun.

Speaking of water, one particular motel that was an unusual and a once in a lifetime experience was when Dad treated us to the water bed motel. Now, this wasn't a sleazy dump in a bad part of town, it was a regular looking motel, like an Imperial 400 or Best Western, but instead they had water beds in the rooms. This actually wasn't too unusual, remember this was the '70's and water beds were all the rage, but if you couldn't afford one, or just wanted to try it out, you could find them at these water bed motels and test drive one. At first we got a single room like we usually do, and someone had to volunteer to sleep on the floor, usually this was Dad. But we got to the room (without sneaking someone in) and it was a lot nicer than usual but had only one big water bed. Dad and Mom had a private discussion and they decided to get another adjoining room for themselves, and my sister and I would have this room for ourselves. This was out of the ordinary but we didn't have a problem with it thinking that there just wasn't enough water bed to go around for everybody. So they got the other room and he and Mom immediately went to "take a nap" and gave strict instructions for us to not disturb them and stay in the room. Now, this was also unusual and my sister and I were too young and naive to catch the drift, but again we didn't have a problem with it and were excited to spend a few hours playing on the water bed and watch color TV. The jumping on the water bed turned out to be not as fun as you would think and both my sister and I quickly got bored. The TV watching was also not very compelling and we were limited to watching nature shows or "Wide Wide World of Sports", so the TV became more peripheral noise than entertainment and I was motivated to find other means of keeping busy. I decided to snoop through some of Mom and Dad's things and I came across Dad's collection of vitamins. Dad was always big into vitamins and has a separate supplement for every vitamin and mineral A to Z. So I went and took one or two from each container (there were quite a few) and made a game out of the little pills. I was especially fascinated with the clear amber capsules for vitamin E and the smelly fish oil or garlic capsules. I wanted to know what was inside them so I got a fork and poked a hole in one of them, making an oily mess and leaving me with a deflated gel pill. I didn't stop there and went on experimenting by getting a bathroom drinking glass and mixing the vitamins all together by mashing them up and using the liquid from the gel capsules as a binder. This process took me more than a few minutes and resulted in a pasty goo that smelled like vitamin E, garlic and alfalfa. I actually took a taste of the concoction, and fortunately it was disgusting otherwise I might've thought it was healthy and consumed the whole thing. I decided then that I better clean up and dispose of the evidence less Dad find out I stole his vitamins for fun and games. I cleaned up as best I could but did leave tell-tale signs of what I was up to. When Mom and Dad returned they weren't in the best of moods for some reason, Dad was only mildly annoyed that I was into his vitamins but to my surprise mostly ignored my mischief. Both Mom and Dad were more quiet than usual and there was tension in the atmosphere for the rest of the evening. That night, for me and my sister, sleeping on the water bed proved to be more anti climatic than anything and I recall having a restless night. The next morning we checked out as usual and continued on our way, the curiosity about water beds had been fulfilled.

One of the more novel motels we stayed at was the "Teepee" or sometimes called "Wigwam" motel. Apart from their appearance and kitchy architecture, there wasn't anything particularly unusual about them and they were actually quite nice and comfortable. The outside of course looked like a stucco teepee with a TV antenna sticking out of the top, but the inside was round and wood paneled with all the modern conveniences like a bathroom and TV. The neighborhood this Motel was in wasn't much to speak of, catering to truckers and travelers, but it was pleasant in it's ordinary-ness. For some reason the thing I remember most about the Teepee motel was getting a late start leaving in the morning and I was allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons like Scooby Doo and The Groovy Goulies. And even though the Teepee motel was slightly more expensive that a regular Motel, (paying for the historic privilege I guess) Dad found the extra cost worth it and made it a point to return to the Teepee motel when ever we were in the area.

Motels - part 3. Dumps

Most of the time the motels we stayed at were fairly nice, at worst just ordinary, but nothing too frightening or dangerous. However, there were a few instances and experiences worth noting and were the cause for many memorable nights, some truly a cause for concern, and a few that were only manufactured by our attitude, imagination or bad moods, which in hindsight make the experience not as miserable as we thought.

At the forefront of dumpy places to stay is the Astoria Hotel, in Astoria, Oregon. This hotel became the litmus test to compare every dank and dreary hotel and motel we were to ever stay at and has been the cause for tense conversation ever since. Not only was the hotel itself old, dark and cold, but the weather in this coastal Oregon town was gray, bleak and wet. It is ironic however that I now live in this area of the country and have come to like and accept this weather, as well as come to love the town of Astoria. But at this time we came into town and Dad insisted on staying at this old and historic hotel thinking it would be a good experience, like in the old days before there were motels like we were used to, Mom and I just thought Dad was being cheap. The major flaw in this hotel that was the main gripe was it didn't have bathrooms in the room, but communal bathrooms down the hall. I guess this is the way it was normally like back in the day, and Mom and I failed to see the unique fun in this and Mom complained bitterly about this inconvenience. I didn't really like it myself but accepted this and let Mom do all the complaining. Dad only got annoyed and thought it was unreasonable to complain stating that this is what it was like in every hotel, even the fancy expensive ones, only a few years ago and Mom and I needed to suck it up and enjoy it. The hotel like I said was old and a bit musty, the carpets were hard and thread-bare and the color scheme for the entire hotel was a muted gray with splashes of faded color in the carpets and wall paper. It also had an old elevator that had one of those metal gates that needed to be manually closed before the elevator would work. The elevator was small, slow and creaky and it made me a tiny bit nervous, but Dad pointed out that it was an Otis elevator, and if I haven't mentioned it before, Dad is proudly descended from Elisha Otis - the guy responsible for the elevator and it's namesake, and the reason Dad is named Otis. So Dad never failed to mention whenever we were riding in an Otis elevator and demanded respect for the privilege. But this particular elevator seemed to be an original vintage Otis complete with Victorian era technology, and it failed to impress me or Mom. The other inconvenience was that the hotel had a lobby and desk clerk, which meant that the anonymous status we usually enjoyed didn't exist at this hotel, and we were under the constant scrutiny of the manager, which for some reason made me and Mom uncomfortable. Dad suggested that we do what everyone did in the old days and hang out in the lobby and read magazines on the old couches among the elderly tenants, this was received coolly by me and Mom and promptly ignored.

Mom was in a bad mood the entire stay, which put everyone in a bad mood. Dad vainly tried to smooth things over by justifying the historic value of the hotel and that we were being spoiled and ungrateful, (which now I see his point) and we probably needlessly turned it into a bad situation. The next morning there seemed to be a rush to get out and Dad was visibly irritated and disappointed by our lack of enthusiasm. From that time on Dad still tries to expound on the virtues of the Astoria Hotel, and other hotels like it, and becomes slightly belligerent and sarcastic when mentioning it, expressing pity about our lack of open mindedness.

But that is not to say that we didn't have genuine bad experiences in motels, sometimes unknowingly checking into a shady establishment frequented by unsavory truckers, criminals and prostitutes. Usually you could spot one of these motels a mile away, but sometimes we either didn't see the usual signs, or didn't have much of a choice. At one motel I remember that it superficially liked okay, but on further examination realized that it was converted from a hospital, possibly a mental hospital, noticing oblique details like curtain rods around the beds and strange plug outlets that accommodated sadistic instruments. Then there was the time there was a faint but unpleasant odor in the room, which was discovered to a decomposing animal head under the bed, only to be found the next morning during one of Dad's "idiot checks" Even Dad was disturbed by this discovery. And every so often, and without any explanation we would check into a motel and get a distinct suspicious and unwelcome feeling, encountering unfriendly and often mean managers that seemed they would've rather that we didn't check in. Maybe they sensed Dad being "different", or they didn't like kids, but whatever the case we learned to avoid and keep quiet in these situations, knowing it would soon be over and the next motel would certainly be better. Fortunately these cases were the exception and not the rule.

This is also not to say that we didn't have bad experiences at good motels. Even Holiday Inn's had the potential of unpleasant danger. At one of the traditional stops during the trip, that being San Diego, California, Dad would make special concessions and stay at premium motels in order to celebrate the start of the trip of set the tone. At this time we checked into a "round" Holiday Inn, which was a building with cylindrical architecture resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa (without the leaning) There were a few of these type of round Holiday Inns around California and we happened to have one of these in our own neighborhood back home in Los Angeles. Dad would sometimes take us kids and stay the night in this Holiday Inn, literally 2 miles from our house, just for kicks and a chance to pretend we were on the trip during the regular time of the year. So in San Diego Dad was enthusiastic to stay in this Holiday Inn since it fulfilled a tradition. Well, during this stay, and sometime during the late night, someone knocked loudly on the door to the room next to ours, demanding to be let in. Fortunately the doors had peep holes and Mom and Dad were able to witness what was about to go on. It seemed that a large angry man had left a gun under the mattress in the room next door and was desperate to be let in to retrieve it, at 3:00 in the morning. The more the person in the room hesitated and argued against it, the more angry and unreasonable the guy with the lost gun got. After about 10 minutes, probably when the guy realized someone might've called the police, he took off abruptly. Needless to say this concerned Dad and Mom and we checked out of that Holiday Inn and checked into a far safer Motel 6 in "Motel Village" just outside San Diego and with convenient access to the zoo and other family attractions. The round Holiday Inns never seemed the same after that.

Longs Peak

The showpiece of Rocky Mountain National Park, and the ultimate challenge for hikers and climbers is Longs Peak, which claims a formidable 14,259 feet above sea level and gives Estes Park, and much of Colorado a magnificent natural monument. Wind River Ranch, where we stayed, lay in it's shadows and everyone gazed and talked about it as if it were a pagan god or some forbidden region to be respected, in fact it was an awesome and dangerous mountain with many would-be climbers meeting their fate attempting the summit, I can remember on more than one occasion where someone had fallen to their death, or someone needed to be rescued from the sheer cliff that was called "The Diamond". I however spent most of my time looking at the peak from a safe distance miles away.

There was more than one way to reach the summit and far less dangerous routes than scaling the cliff of the Diamond with ropes and sheer guts. Dad, Uncle Bob and some of the more experienced guests would make the annual attempt to reach the top of Longs Peak the easy way, there was a long trail of switchbacks leading to a field of boulders (coincidentally called "the Boulder Field") and to the base of the peak to a less treacherous cliff where there was a series of cables laid out to assist less experienced climbers to the summit. There was also a longer but strenuous trail along the back of the peak that you would reach through a pass called "The Keyhole", and while this was slightly safer, it took hours longer to reach the top. Reaching the top required leaving early in the morning and returning later in the evening exhausted and satisfied, but more often than not they would return without reaching the top claiming altitude sickness or bad weather, or just being plain tired. One of the regular guests that would lead Dad and Uncle Bob on these treks was a well respected doctor who had years of experience with Longs Peak, Dad would often talk about him and his hiking experiences with the doctor and Dad gleaned much of his Longs Peak expertise from him. With the doctors' leadership Dad was able to reach the summit of Longs Peak on a couple of occasions taking both the cables and the keyhole route. On one of these hikes, my cousin David and I stayed behind and became concerned when our dads didn't return after a couple of hours, not realizing it would take all day to complete the trip. We got a pair of binoculars and tried to find our dads on the cliff worried they were stuck, or we just wanted confirmation they were okay and tried to see them from the ranch. However we didn't see anybody on the mountain. Dad and Uncle Bob returned from reaching the summit one time a little disappointed and confused, they made the very strenuous and dangerous climb to the top, only to find that there was a bunch of people already there, no different than any other hike in the Park, there were old people who didn't seem fit enough to make the climb as well as young kids. Dad and Uncle Bob couldn't figure what they were doing wrong to feel so challenged and exhausted by the climb only to find mere tourists had easily accomplished the hike ahead of them. Later they surmised that most of them took more than one day to make the top and that they would camp overnight along the way. Both Dad and Uncle Bob deemed this as cheating.

It would be a few years before I was allowed to attempt Longs Peak, and I had to succeed at a number of other mountains before I was considered worthy to be allowed to try Longs. One of these mountains was Twin Sisters, a mountain directly behind Wind River Ranch, a simple 11,428 feet above sea level. Twin Sisters is actually 4 peaks, and as a kid I never understood why they called it twins when it was 4, it should've been quadruplet sisters. But on a later trip when I was older, during a casual conversation with Dad, he explained the meaning of "twin sisters" to my innocent and naive sensibilities: if you view the peaks from a certain vantage point the peaks resemble a set of two women's breasts... Oh... yeah, now I see it. It was like the explanation of "Teton" during our trip to Mt. Rushmore, and just as embarrassing. But from that time on that's what I see when I view Twin Sisters. But again, I digress. So the year I went on the trip with Dad by myself and shared a cabin with David was the year we all attempted Longs Peak, me, Dad, Uncle Bob and all my cousins. The hike started out as usual, long, boring and very uphill. Dad and Uncle Bob knew of a shortcut that the rangers take when they need to hike the mountain, that would be to cut through the switchbacks and follow the telephone poles up to the boulder field. While the shortcut did shorten the distance, the terrain was far more rough and the incline noticeably steeper, the hike was fast becoming unpleasant. I was the youngest in the group but not the biggest complainer, (although I did my share of complaining). Most of the harsh words came from the girl cousins, Gail and Sarane, who didn't plan on such an involved hike and wanted to get back to the comfortable cabin life. However we all had an goal and Uncle Bob pressed us on. We got to the Boulder Field, which was exactly like we expected, a vast field of boulders. For me and my size, navigating the boulders was more difficult and time consuming than for the rest, but having David and my Dad along made it worthwhile and I continued on trying to make the next milestone; the cables. Dad told me that once we reached the cable it would be an easy jaunt to the top, but we had to get to the cables first, and that was proving to be more difficult than expected for everyone. The boulder field was the remnant of an ancient glacial flow and left behind a huge pile of strewn rocks, at that altitude there was nothing green or living except for lichen and the occasional marmot, a large beaver-looking squirrel that would emit a loud squeak and disappear before you could get close to it. So some of us kids were distracted by the marmots and this prolonged us getting to the cable route. Dad encouraged me to make a hard push toward the cables and when we arrived everyone else had already been there for some time waiting for us. My cousin Gail was a teenager and preoccupied with getting back to a date she had made with one of the wranglers later that evening, This annoyed Dad immensely and he complained under his breath that our very important objective of reaching the top was being undermined by Gails love life. Uncle Bob was also not very enthusiastic about making the last leg to the top and despite Dad's arguing that it was only a few hundred yards to the top, Dad got voted down and everyone decided this was more than far enough to consider it a successful climb. I was only slightly disappointed but very tired and I knew that the distance I came up, was the same distance I needed to come down, Dad tried to convince me that I basically made it to the top, that we were only minutes away and that I could consider it "the top" if I wanted, but I always knew better, that this wasn't the summit and that I didn't really make it to the top - this time.

It wasn't until I was 15 and was in Estes Park with my Dad one Summer, we had decided before we got to Estes Park that we were going to make it to the top of Longs Peak this time, although Dad was always concerned about "acclimation" and warned me about the altitude and it's effects, I was determined to reach the summit, and I think Dad was also. Dad prepared me with buying me a pair of expensive hiking boots, just like the ones he got when he hiked Longs Peak the first time. Dad considered it was time to buy proper boots since my feet had seemed to stop growing and the investment wouldn't be wasted when I outgrew them. We made a few preparatory hikes and then one day started out early to make it to the top. At the ranger station at the base of the trail we found out that the cables had been removed and it was considered no longer a novice trail, that if we wanted to reach the summit we would have to take the Keyhole route. Dad went to the car and brought along a pair of cleats that you strap on to your boots for gripping ice, for some reason he thought they would be useful. Concerned about not being able to use the cable route we started off to the top. Now, the reason you need to start early is to beat the weather, I found out much later that more people die on Longs Peak from lightning than from falling, especially up at the boulder field above the timber line. This was something we were unaware of at the time, but we pressed on. We also could no longer cut off the switchbacks and take the shortcut through the trail like we did before, they were trying to re-grow where the telephone poles used to be and forbid hiking off the trail, fortunately my age, size and strength had matured and hiking the trail wasn't as strenuous as the last time, also the boulders in the Boulder Field had become smaller to me making them easier to manage. I was full of energy and in no time we reached the base of the mountain where the old cable route used to be.

Dad and I were watching some climbers descending the old cable route with ropes. As we sat there watching them Dad and I thought that it really didn't look all that difficult to climb up without the cables. Part of the reason the cables were there in the first place was to be able to cross a patch of glacier, which wasn't there anymore. So with a little discussion, Dad and I convinced ourselves we could climb up to the top and avoid the lengthy Keyhole route. And up we went. Silently we passed the climbers on their way down and they didn't discourage us from attempting this way up, so we thought it must have been okay to climb up. A little ways up one of us loosened some rocks and they came tumbling down toward the climbers, we yelled out a warning and the climbers seemed to overreact, panic and dive for cover. We could tell they were not pleased with us and I could guess they were cursing us under their breath. Dad thought this was a silly reaction and they looked funny running for cover like that, I started to get a little concerned and doubted our decision make it to the top this way, but continued to climb up. Along the way climbing the cliff, every so often, we would come across metal eyelets embedded in the rock, these were originally used to attache the old cables to the side of the cliff, and now climbers, like the ones we just kicked rocks on, would use them for climbing with ropes, so we used these eyelets as guides to the top. We didn't get far, but far enough so we couldn't get back when we realized we might have made a mistake by taking this route, the rock climb was quickly becoming more and more difficult and dangerous and it got to the point where we were unable to climb down without slipping and falling. Falling at this point also would've meant certain death down off of The Diamond, we were between a rock and a hard place and essentially we were trapped realizing climbing the cliff looked easier than it actually was. We considered calling out to the climbers for help, who were far in the distance, but we were too embarrassed now, considering how stupid we must have looked to them dropping rocks on their heads. So we both hung on there for a few moments and tried to decide how to get out of this predicament, it was a go up or stay situation and staying wasn't an option, (and it seemed going up wasn't much of an option either), so we guessed we just had to go up. Dad realized that he had those strap-on cleats for his boots, which seemed useless right now, but he took them out and told me to tie one of the straps to one of the eyelets just barely in reach above us. I was able to reach that high but Dad had difficulty stretching that far, so I tied the strap around the eyelet, and hoping my knot held, pulled myself up to a better position. Hanging on to the eyelet strap and to Dad, I awkwardly pulled him up to a better position and we both inched ourselves up to a safer point on the cliff. The worst part seemed over and it looked a little bit easier from that point on, but we really couldn't tell, but we did know one thing for sure, we couldn't go back down the same direction less we risked falling to our deaths, so Dad and I nervously continued up the old cable route, sans cables. Thankfully the rest of the climb was not as treacherous and became easier, but I also noticed that it was considerably longer to the top than I expected, not the few minutes and couple of hundred yards dad indicated to me the last time we attempted Longs, but the worst was over and gradually the incline became less steep, until finally, we reached the summit.

This was truly a momentous occasion, not only had I finally reached the top of Longs Peak, but I didn't die in the process. I too noticed the amount of people at the top, obviously they took a different way up, but I was a bit surprised at how many people there was at this remote and difficult place on the Earth. The summit really wasn't what I expected and from the base, the peak looks pointed with not much area at all, but in fact it was flat and rocky and covered a few acres and resembled the landscape of Mars in those NASA pictures. Dad and I didn't say much about what we just went through, but we did silently say a prayer and promised never to do anything like that again. And since we did work very hard getting up to the top we made the most of it and spent as much time exploring the summit before we made our way down. There was no question about it, we were taking the long and difficult Keyhole route back down and fortunately it was downhill. There wasn't really a trail and you had to scramble and climb over rocky terrain, following painted bulls eyes on the rocks marking the way to the Keyhole pass, and back to the Boulder Field. It was easier going on the way back but we were tired and clumsy, and to make matters worse the threat of lightening loomed before us. At the Keyhole there was built out of rock a shelter to stay in case of lightning, we took a quick look but was eager about getting back and clueless about the threat of lightening. On the way through the Boulder Field we could hear thunder in the distance, and felt slightly vulnerable, but chose not to think about it and continued down. Once at the treeline the trail re-appeared and the hiking got easier, I tended to hike faster than Dad, (which he always mentioned and warned me about overdoing it), so I put myself on auto-pilot and went straight down to the parking lot without hardly stopping to rest. About a half-hour later Dad appeared and we got back in the car and went back to town, successfully conquering Longs Peak.

To celebrate we had dinner at Pizza Hut, this was before I became a regular beer drinker so I rested on my laurels with a pitcher of Dr. Pepper and half a large pizza. I proudly told the waitress we just finished climbing Longs Peak, but she didn't seem impressed.

Freddy The Cowboy

As I told you before, we all went to Colorado and spent 10 days at a dude ranch, Wind River Ranch, high in the Rocky Mountains. Now what this meant for me was that I needed to be a rootin-tootin cowboy, and in order to play the part correctly I needed a proper cowboy persona complete with cowboy boots, leather vest, bandanna scarf, matching cowboy hat, and of course a holster and pistol. My weapon of choice was a fancy six-shooter with a authentic looking wooden handle, the bullets were actually those red paper rolls of caps that needed to be threaded into the gun and aligned with the hammer, and when fired correctly gave a satisfying bang! and followed by the distinct smell of gunpowder. To make my alter-ego complete, I somehow decided that Sean wasn't an acceptable cowboy name, (whoever heard of a real cowboy named Sean), they all had names like Billy, Butch, or Sundance, not a very un-cowboy name like Sean. So I thought a better name for myself would be Freddy. I actually remember where I got the name, it was from one of the older kids in my neighborhood named Freddy, who would ride a skateboard or his bike dangerously, I thought he was cool and so I thought it would make an intimidating cowboy name for myself. So from then on at the ranch I insisted on being called Freddy. Another one of Freddy's cowboy powers I deemed upon myself was that I had poison teeth. I guess Freddy's symbolic cowboy animal identity was the rattlesnake (an appropriate creature to emulate I thought) and if I were to be truly powerful and respected by all the grown-ups, poison teeth certainly should be able to fight of any vicious bad guy or Indian. So there I was at Wind River Ranch living by the code of the West and having all the cowboy accoutrement's at my disposal.

The ranch was situated on many acres of forest and meadow and had a few acres of horse corrals and places to ride and play. Surrounding parts the ranch and the cabins were many areas of tall grass and weeds which were great fun for us kids to play and hide in, my cousin David and I would spend a great part of the day playing cowboys and Indians, or more likely since we were both cowboys we played cowboys and cowboys, but the tall grass provided many opportunities for various games. Since I was only about 4 years old at the time the grass and weeds was a good foot taller than I was and it was easy for me to get lost and disoriented, but I quickly learned to navigate the weeds and became comfortable with it's tendency to swallow me up. One time my Mom and Dad were out looking for me among the many acres of woods, cabins and tall grass, they searched the ranch calling my name (Sean) but I wouldn't answer and preferred to stay hidden in the tall grass. My parents started to get a little concerned and frantic since there was a distinct possibility that I could've wandered off and gotten lost in the woods, and a real possibility of being attacked by the numerous wild animals reported around the ranch. My Aunt and Uncle and a few of the other guests assisted in the search and I vaguely remember being aware of this but still remained hidden in the tall grass. Another guest at the ranch who was familiar and amused with my taking the cowboy name Freddy suggested that my parents call out Freddy instead of Sean, and doing this convinced me to re-appear out of the weeds a mere few feet away. My parent and the rest of the search party were both amused and a wee-bit angry at me for scaring them, but from then on everyone knew my name was Freddy and took it seriously.

At the time I was way too young to ride a horse by myself but I took every opportunity to go on supervised horse rides in the corral with the many wranglers there to assist us dudes with the horses. It was one of the last days at the ranch and Mom and Dad had scheduled to let me have a horse ride around the corral. Riding a horse was very exciting and represented the ultimate in cowboy activity, so up on the horse I went while Dad held the reigns and Mom stood back with the camera. I was feeling very cowboy and confident sitting up in the saddle, decked out in my hat, boots and duds, and I thought it would be an appropriate time for me to take out my pistol and fire off a shot like they do in the movies. I pulled out my gun, pointed it in the air (very cowboy-like) and Bang! went a cap. This was lucky and unusual because normally the hammer of the gun misses the cap and you get an unsatisfying snap with no bang, but this time the hammer hit the cap perfectly and gave off a particularly loud bang. Well, needless to say this startled the horse and he reared back at the sudden sound, coming back down and stepping on my Dad's foot as he struggled to control the horse. Dad composed the horse and himself and then became agitated at me for shooting the gun in the first place. I thought it was a great idea at the time but I then immediately knew I did something wrong and began to panic and cry. The horse calmed down quickly, but now I was more concerned that the wranglers were going to be angry with me and take my gun away.

That was the beginning of the end for Freddy the Cowboy, now humiliated by acting impulsive and un-cowboy-like. I sadly went back to being Sean again, but kept the poison teeth for a few weeks.

Spoons

We were on our last leg back home traveling down the West coast of Oregon and Northern California. The scenery and the weather always makes a sudden change and it tends to get a bit colder and overcast. It seemed like everyone was in a rush to get home and even Dad was feeling the pressure, but still insisted on taking his time and making methodical stops according to his pace. The pressure must've been intense because we stopped for lunch along the way at a restaurant along the coast and we all had a tense meal, when we left the restaurant and went on our way, about 10 miles down the road from the restaurant Dad and Mom realized that we forgot to pay the bill and stiffed the waitress. Dad considered turning around and paying, feeling a bit guilty since this was something Dad would never intentionally do, Mom was just upset at the whole situation in general and the potential delay seemed to irritate her even further, so Dad reluctantly and silently decided to just keep going. The rest of us kids knew it was wrong and was uncomfortable with this decision, thinking at any moment the police would appear behind us and arrest Dad for theft. But nothing happened and the further we got away the more it seemed we were safe from being caught up with.

We arrived in a section of the Pacific Northwest where there were a lot of Redwood trees and the forest was dense and green. Dad decided to stop for the night at a set of motel cabins by a lake, and everyone, Mom included wholeheartedly approved. This was the first time we stopped at these cabins and for years afterward they became a traditional stop for Dad since they proved to be a surprisingly pleasant and generally happy destination. The cabins themselves were somewhat rustic and primitive, but clean and comfortable, each having a kitchenette and plenty of room. The office area had a small cafe and gift shop selling postcards, fishing tackle and bait and the management was friendly. The office also had one pay phone and Mom and Ted used the opportunity to check in with our families. The decision had been coming for some time now but Mom had already decided she has had enough and made arrangements to fly back home when we got to San Francisco. Ted was also getting tired of the trip and was anxious to meet a girlfriend he made at EST camp right before the trip, so Mom and Ted arranged to fly home in a day or two. I was feeling pressure and conflicted but asked to fly home with Ted and Mom, I think this upset Dad because he was being difficult about agreeing on the arrangements, and continually made fun of Ted for having a girlfriend, but I felt it was best that I fly home with Mom and Ted while Dad drove the rest of the way home with my sisters.

Meanwhile back at the cabin and the lake, Ted and I were enjoying ourselves fishing and running around the cabin area. There was this other kid there traveling with his adult sister and he was attempting to make friends with us, he began to tell us the details of his life and his family indicating that he was with his sister because of some trouble with his parents. Ted pretty much ignored him and concentrated his efforts on fishing, I felt a little guilty and paid attention to the kid. After a while the kid suggested we spy on his sister (who was young and pretty) and if we were lucky we could maybe see her in her underwear. This was definitely a tempting offer but I was cautious, and yet tried to sneak a peek at every opportunity. The sister seemed unaware but unfortunately kept her clothes on the entire time we were spying on her. I think the sister was suspicious of me, and any other kid in the area and called her little brother to come back in the cabin for the evening, the kid sadly protested but finally gave me a pathetic wave goodbye and went back into his cabin.

I went back to fishing with Ted. I was using my new fishing rod and reel I got for my birthday and Ted was using his old and inferior rod and reel. Ted was far more enthusiastic about fishing and determined to catch a fish than I was and I quickly got bored and offered Ted my rod and reel. It was getting dark and I went back to the cabin, when a short time later Ted came back all flustered and upset: he had accidentally dropped my new rod and reel into the lake and it sunk unseen in the murky water. Ted apologized profusely but I wasn't really upset. We went back to the dock he was fishing off of and tried to retrieve it with sticks, but it was no use, the rod and reel were gone. Ted still felt bad about it and tried to compensate by giving me his rod and reel or looking to buy another reel in the cabin office gift shop, but it was late and there was nothing we could do about it. It didn't really matter anyway, that was the last time I was going to go fishing again for a few years, so the rod and reel had already served its purpose.

There was no TV in the cabin, so we all organized a lively game of "Spoons", or sometimes called "Pig". This was a card game that involved multiple players and a set of spoons, you would set out a number of spoons for each player - minus one. When you reached a match with your hand of cards you would quickly grab a spoon, prompting the other players to grab a spoon, leaving one unfortunate player without a spoon, and they were out for the duration. The game would continue until only one spoon was left and the lucky player with the deciding hand would grab the last spoon. This was a game of skill and bluff and would often digress into fury and get somewhat out of hand. Sometimes when silverware wasn't available we would have to use plastic spoons and inevitably they would all get broken and someone would injure themselves on a sharp plastic edge. This time the cabin had an equipped kitchenette so we were able to procure real silverware, but there wasn't enough spoons to go around so we had to improvise and use a couple of forks. Mom participated for a few hands but when the atmosphere got a little feisty she dropped out completely. Dad and the rest of us started to get overly excited and the game was beginning to take on a fever-pitched pace, we were playing on one of the beds the whole time, and during one game suddenly someone grabbed a spoon, and the rest of us lunged for the remaining silverware. Someone grabbed the fork, and one of the tines caught on the sheet, ripping a huge tear in the sheet and part of the mattress underneath. Mom immediately put a stop to the game, causing Dad to react like a punished and defensively guilty child. But that was the end of the game, and the evening festivities.

This was also essentially the end of the trip for Mom, Ted and I that year since a couple of days later we were in San Francisco and catching a flight home.

Brewery Tour

The origin of some traditions are often dubious, sometimes unpleasant, or only fun when taken out of the context of reality and put into the isolated experience of just my Dad, so such is the case with the brewery tours. These events on the trips have become another annual occurrence that involves full participation and precise ritual, and since it has become one of the mandatory events, all of us have come to expect. However, extreme caution and careful handling is required. To explain this, one needs to understand certain behaviors that manifest in Dad sometimes, habits and traits we've come to recognize during certain times. Things like when Dad is too generous, too friendly, too talkative, too happy... and that almost always spells trouble. A good example of this is, in certain and specific restaurants like The Hamburger Hamlet or Regular Jons', (irritatingly called "Pizza Joes" by Dad) something will trigger this behavior, it might be that fatal glass of wine, a big screen TV playing free old movies, or a special menu item that causes Dad to become overly interested in the cuisine. What then happens is Dad will refuse to leave the restaurant, even long after closing and the staff is vacuuming and patiently waiting for Dad to finish. Dad's eating habits take on a precise and maddening ritual that can only be described as deliberate torture with no reason other than to piss everyone off. Every bite of food is carefully and slowly manipulated into exact portions, each bite split into successive smaller and smaller portions. Bites turn into half-bites, and those half-bites turn into half-bites, and so on... until the last minuscule bite which can often stay on the plate for hours. This stalling tactic is interspersed with confrontational topics of conversation and long trips to the restroom, (which are actually visits to the cocktail lounge in order to work in additional drinks). The later the evening gets, and the more impatient the rest of us become, the more intense this behavior grows. Even after the restaurant has long closed Dad will continue to order additional items like glasses of ice for his beer or slices of lemon to garnish his carefully portioned food, and even when every morsel had been eaten, Dad will not allow the dish to be taken away until he meticulously scrapes the residue off the plate with his fork or a lemon peel, then sprinkling the lemon peel with potassium salt he brings with him, eats the peel. Paying the bill then becomes a drawn-out procedure that has literally taken an hour to accomplish, Dad uses this time to prolong the occasion and further anger the wait staff. And during all this, Dad truly believes everyone is having a wonderful time.

But I digress... The point of this particular story is how the brewery tour tradition got started, and hopefully you will see the connection.

We arrived in Olympia, Washington, home of the Olympia Brewing Co. makers of "Oly" and those cute little cans of beer I talked about, and also Hamms and Rainier brands of beer. Taking the tour was free and seemed like an interesting idea to pass the time, so all of us got in line and formed a group for one of the tours of the facility. The tour itself was slightly interesting for kids but I think Ted and I quickly got bored and could've taken the abbreviated version of the tour, Dad however found everything fascinating and lingered as long as possible at every station of the tour. It took about an hour to complete, but at the end of the tour came the Pièce de résistance - free samples of their beer. This was the trigger that set off future incidences of unpleasantness and arrogant behavior later on. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the early time of day to consume alcohol, but whatever the case it switched Dad from Jekyll into Hyde for the rest of the day. I think Mom knew the inherent danger from the beginning but this was unavoidable since I think this was Dad's intention from the get-go; free beer. This was the most important part of the tour and included some audience participation, tasting the different brands and quality, and although Dad wasn't chosen by the tour guide to show off his beer-tasting prowess, he still watched enthusiastically. Eventually everyone was offered to partake (except us kids of course, who where given cups of root beer or 7Up) and partake Dad did! Taking advantage of tasting every sample the brewery had to offer until the next tour came through and we were forced to be cut off. Jokingly the tour guide said the only way to get more samples was to take the tour again, which Dad seriously considered, but even this went beyond reason and Dad was forced to sip his last free beer for the day.

This didn't mean we were leaving the brewery just yet, there was still the gift shop to peruse, and due too the recent free lubrication, Dad was uncharacteristically open and excited about shopping in this tourist trap. Mom recognized this and immediately went into angry bitch-mode, trying to discourage us kids from taking advantage of this unusual situation of alcohol induced generous Dad. She put up with the shopping spree of T-shirts and funny hats for a few minutes and angrily went to wait it out in the car, all the time Dad was joyfully laughing and enjoying the tension. Now, this is where it started to get unpleasant. Dad found that the gift shop sold pool cues with the different beer brand logos printed on them. This made perfect sense since beer and pool went together, and we had a pool table back home. So Dad thought it would be brilliant and fun if we were to start our own collection of Olympia beer pool cues. At first all of us kids were excited at the prospect of buying such high-quality items in a gift shop, since usually we were lucky to get out with a cheap key chain or postcard, and also it seemed favorable for us taking advantage of Dad's temporary generosity. So enthusiastically we went to picking out a set of cues to go with our pool table back home. For us kids the choice was easy and we made our decisions in about 10 seconds - 3 cues, one for each brand, we didn't care about the color of the handle. But the decision wasn't so simple for Dad, who had to second-guess every choice and question every decision anyone made. The combination and choice of colors was vitally important, and also to consider was the future choice of additional cues, since Dad had already decided this was going to be a continuing tradition every time we visited a brewery tour gift shop. The choice and decisions went on for quite a long time and Dad would consult us kids about our opinion, but would shoot down our choice for some reason or another. I finally became tired and exasperated with this process and abandoned Dad with the pool cue selection. This only angered Dad by my lack of enthusiasm and participation and he chastised me for being ungrateful about his generosity, threatening to take away my privilege of using these new fancy cues when we got home, and relegated to use the old crappy warped ones instead, essentially forcing me to endure the pool cue selection process. By now, already two subsequent tours had come through behind us and we were still in the gift shop quibbling over which color and style of beer cues was the most appropriate for our cheap Sears pool table that hardly anyone played on anymore, and the people working the gift shop were starting to wonder about Dad's sanity I'm sure. Also, I was getting nervous that Mom was still waiting in the car, seething with anger and temptation to drink herself with every given minute. Even Ted was beginning to get impatient and suggested that Dad should just pick out the stupid cues already so we can get going. The whole pool cue idea turned into a major production and everyone began to think it wasn't such a good idea after all, taking Mom's advice and waiting in the car seemed like the best decision after all. But eventually, after a great deal of pain and frustration, we became the proud owners of official "Olympia" and "Hamms" beer pool cues.

Well, I wish buying the pool cues was the end of the fun, but it wasn't. Actually it was about to go from bad to worse, to worse-er. The stage was set with Dad and the few free beers had successfully turned him into a happy but belligerent ass. For the rest of the day Dad and Mom were to be confrontational, with Dad having the clear advantage. Dinner was awkward and much of the same behavior prevailed with Dad being both generous and unreasonable. We found a motel and Mom promptly retreated into seclusion allowing us kids to fend for ourselves against Dad's obnoxious and smart-aleky behavior. Looking for the motel we noticed a movie theater close by, and we all thought it might be a good idea to leave Mom by herself and the rest of us go see a movie, that ought to keep both us kids entertained and Dad out of trouble. The movie playing was "Bad News Bears", which I had already seen but wasn't opposed to seeing it again, and it was a good movie for my sister who needed time away from Mom as well. So Dad packed the three of us in the car and took us to see "Bad News Bears" for the rest of the evening. The theater had a balcony, which was always the best seating, but Dad always preferred the seats down below off to the side, and it wasn't all that unusual for Dad to sit somewhere else during movies, so us kids sat up in the balcony and Dad was somewhere else, unseen for the rest of the show. The theatre was full of kids, the building itself was old and the atmosphere was quaint and seemed like a scene out of the 1950's. Halfway through the movie there was an intermission and the theatre had a raffle matching the numbers on your ticket stub, giving away candy and snacks from the concession stand. After the raffle, a guy playing on an old organ gave a rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" the organ platform slowly lifted up from under the stage in front of the screen, and while playing the song the raised platform reached about 10 feet up, stayed for a minute, and then slowly went back down under the stage again. Ted thought this was hysterically funny and had never seen anything like this before, making fun of this scene for days, I had to agree that it was strange and unfamiliar, but thinking back, sad that nobody appreciated it.

The movie ended and we went to the lobby to meet Dad so we could go back to the motel. Dad wasn't around so we searched around the theater to see if we could find him, but he was nowhere to be found. It never occurred to us that Dad would leave early during the movie, but apparently that's what he did, and we sat uncomfortably in the lobby for about an hour, wondering what could've become of Dad. The three of us stayed put while the theater closed up, some of the people working stayed around since we were not accompanied by our parents, and Ted and I considered calling the police. The theater agreed to let us stay a few more minutes before calling the authorities when Dad finally pulled up outside in the car in front of the theater. Relieved we thanked the theater people and rushed to the car. When we got in Dad sat there smiling as if nothing was wrong and was unaware he kept us waiting for an hour. Upon further observation we realized that Dad was about as drunk as anyone could be and still be conscious, that he spent the last 3 hours in a bar adding fuel to the free beers he had earlier.

In a round-about way Dad admitted he was too drunk to drive, (which he clearly was). Ted laughed nervously and offered to drive, but being only 12 years old was only slightly safer than having Dad drive drunk-as-a-skunk. Dad happily announced that we were going to play a game called "Navigator" Which meant us kids were going to give directions, and Dad was going to steer. This was not a good game at all and meant that Dad had no idea where he was or how to get back to the Motel, relying on us kids to figure out the directions to the Motel. All of us kids really didn't pay much attention getting to the theater and we only had a vague idea how to get back, but at the time was the only practical way for us to return to the motel without involving the police. So off we went. I sat in the front and Ted and my sister sat in the back with Ted leaning over the front seat to better give directions. It became necessary on a few occasions for me or Ted to grab the steering wheel in order to avoid crashing. Dad thought it was a lot of fun, and we pretended it was fun so not to alarm Dad. We would bark orders like "Turn here" and Dad would take the directions literally and turn up a curb sending Ted and I scrambling for the steering wheel to correct the turn and avoid us crashing into a storefront. Dad would calmly react by saying we told him to turn "here", so that's what he did, and it was our fault that he drove up onto the curb. Panicking a bit we would explain that we meant him turn at the next street, not onto the sidewalk, so from then on we were extremely specific about our directions. We went around many blocks nobody really agreeing as to which was the correct way back, I was getting extremely upset and thought we were going to die, Ted on the other hand managed to take control and direct Dad down the correct street. By some miracle of God we found the motel and Dad clumsily parked the car in front of our room. Ted was laughing nervously telling Dad in a subtle way that he was an idiot, I was relieved we got back without serious injury or involving the police, my sister was crying. Dad on the other hand was having the time of his life and continued to tease us by wanting to go somewhere else, All of us were begging dad to shut up and go to bed, but he continued to ramble on and find more mischief to get involved in. At that point I wished the police had arrived.

Back in the motel room Mom was passed out herself and completely unaware what had gone on that evening. At some point Dad had found his way back to the room and passed out, the rest of us kids nervously fell asleep eventually.

The next morning all of us got up and continued on the trip as if nothing had happened.

Flashed in Seattle

In 1976, 'The Worlds Fair' was being held in Spokane, Washington, and we happened to be passing through. It was really hot and I remember the fair wasn't very crowded, in fact, the fair was really boring. We looked around at some of the exhibits and then spent some time on the carnival rides, but for the most part The Worlds Fair was uneventful. However I couldn't leave without a souvenir and felt compelled to spend my savings on useless junk, so the item I decided on was an invisible dog leash. What this was is a plastic rope reinforced with a stiff wire and a dog harness attached to the end. Holding the stiff leash out and pretending to have a dog attached looked like you were being led around by an invisible poodle. This novelty toy was being sold by a bunch of carnie looking guys demonstrating the effect and teasing the crowds with the invisible dogs to make sales, I was suckered in and shelled out something like $6 for this item and proceeded to run around like an idiot thinking the invisible dog trick was amusing everyone around me. Ted and my Dad finally had to tell me to settle down and stop acting like a moron, that the invisible dog show wasn't entertaining anybody. Getting back to the car I discovered that the 5 foot steel reinforced leash was awkward and didn't fit in the car conveniently, so I was forced to fold the wire in half to make it fit in the way back and not be in the way of anybody. This put a permanent kink in the wire leash which was later impossible to smooth out, which destroyed the whole invisible dog illusion and essentially ruined my toy. I should've listened to Dad and Ted and bought the spring-loaded fly swatter rifle instead.

The following day we arrived in Seattle and decided to stop and take a look around. We couldn't help but notice the Space Needle, a Jetsons looking building with a revolving restaurant at the top and Mom and Ted wanted to go up in it. I don't think Dad was too keen on going up to the top because it cost a lot of money and he also might be forced to buy lunch at the revolving restaurant, which was also expected to be expensive. But Mom insisted and Dad had to let Mom have a say every one in a while to keep things in balance, but Dad was clearly irritated and impatient with the whole event. We took an elevator to the top and the elevator was operated by a young woman who gave us a spiel and explanation about the tower. At the top observation deck we got a spectacular view of the city of Seattle and got to run around the tower for a bit, and indeed the main level of the tower had a revolving floor which provided a 360 degree per hour view of the cityscape. It was interesting and fun to be able to stand between the stationary and moving sections of the floor, letting your feet spread apart until you couldn't stand up anymore, which was entertaining for us kids but annoying for the adults to watch. The spinning restaurant was merely an ordinary and over priced snack bar preying on tourists, so in order to get a seat in the restaurant to enjoy the revolving view Dad allowed us to have the obligatory ice cream treats and drinks, but no real food. We sat there for about 3/4 of a revolution and quickly got both bored and jittery from the ice cream, so we decided to mill around the observation decks some more.

While all of us were taking in the scenery, Mom noticed there was a man in a long coat walking around to various guests and tourists, and giving them a peek at his genitalia. Mom was somewhat amused and informed Dad and us kids to beware of the flasher. Fortunately the flasher didn't seem interested in little boys and focused his attention at the various women. He didn't even look like your stereotypical flasher with the raincoat and legs wearing sock garters, he was a regular looking young guy in a suit and tie, with his hands in his coat pockets strategically positioned to reveal his bits at any chosen moment. From then on we all kept the flasher in the corner of our eye and made it a point to avoid him, especially in the restrooms. However upon studying his approaches and technique, he never seemed to be getting any reactions from any of his victims, in fact everyone seemed to be ignoring him. This amused Mom even further and she joked to Dad that he must not be very impressive to the girls. Ted and I just observed his actions with perplexed and embarrassed horror.

This seemed like as good a time as any to make our exit and take the elevator back down. My sisters and Ted were still busy in the gift shop, so my Dad stayed behind with them to take a later elevator down while my Mom and I took the next available elevator. A group of us got in the elevator car while the young woman operator prepared to take us down, and at the last minute the flasher got on with us. Mom and I gave each other a nervous but amused glance as the flasher took position right in front of the lady elevator operator, the doors closed and we silently started down. He must have given the operator a flash because she reacted with a sarcastic and unenthusiastic "yeah, I know..." and proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the elevator ride, we suspected that he was a regular visitor to the Space Needle and the young lady operator was already intimately familiar with our flasher friend. At the ground level we all piled out of the elevator and went our own ways, the flasher walking off to the side. Mom and I observed him as he proceeded to zip himself back up and walk away disappointed and dejected.

All the stories I've ever heard about flashers and perverts always involved shocked reactions, screaming and police chases, this experience was nothing of the sort and rather unexciting. But from that time on whenever I think of or see the Seattle Space Needle, I always think of flashers.

Mt. Rushmore - part 2.

This is a good example of how traditions get started on the trips, now that we went to Mt. Rushmore once, and it seemed to be a success, it is a requirement to visit Mt. Rushmore again whenever possible, like it or not. So a few years later after the first Mt. Rushmore visit, we were on the trip this time with my friend Ted and the entire rest of my family (Mom and sisters) I mentioned before about the trip with Ted that Mom came along under duress and was somewhat miserable the whole time. We reached the main milestone of Estes Park and had an unusual adventure there (Big Thompson River flood of 1976 - another story), so after Estes we were officially on our way back home taking the customary Northern route, and like always the trip back home was an intentionally drawn out and meandering route, which was Dad's way of taking his time getting home and avoiding ending the trip for as long as possible. It was not unusual for Dad to successively take shorter and shorter legs the closer he got to home, travelling sometimes only 25 miles at a time and basically staying at motels in our own neighborhood before actually getting home, for some reason arriving home and ending the trip was upsetting and traumatic for Dad so he did his best to prolong and avoid ending it, much to the frustration to everyone else on the trip who was ready to go home the first week. But anyway, we were in Estes Park a few days longer than expected due to the flood, Mom long since had enough and just wanted her misery to end and would have gladly just driven back home straight through, the whole 1200 miles without stopping. But Ted, still amazed and excited by the whole adventure mentioned casually that he would like to see Mt. Rushmore. I remember the look of horror on Mom's face when Ted suggested this and an appearance of panic mixed with a helpless anger came over her face, knowing that just the slightest mention of any roadside attraction would surely turn into a week long detour. Mom yelled out a desperate and vain "NO!!" which only succeeded in clinching the deal with Dad, who then felt obligated to make this Mt. Rushmore request a reality for Ted. Dad also for some reason was intent on doing whatever the opposite Mom or anyone else wanted just out of spite and to contradict, thus making it seem like an unreasonable request to deny Ted and the rest of us a chance to see Mt. Rushmore. So with a bit of tension we were off again back home to Los Angeles, via So. Dakota.

The night before we got to Mt. Rushmore we had traveled an unusually long distance and got into some town later than usual. Everyone at this point was tired, upset and cranky, and we couldn't find any suitable motels with a vacancy. Dad however managed to find a hotel in town, one of those older drab and dreary hotels with bathrooms down the hallway, places Mom and I would consider a dump, but this seemed the only place Dad would accept us staying at for the night and refused to look any further for a better motel. I think I was feeding off my Moms unhappiness and I recall that I had a tantrum and refused to sleep the night in the hotel, Dad countered with the suggestion that I sleep in the car, which I considered but with further thought calmed down and conceded to sleep with everyone else in the hotel room. As it turned out everyone was so tired that we hardly spent any awake time in the room and promptly went to sleep. Silently we endured the atmosphere of the hotel and the inconvenience of using the bathroom down the hall, and despite the ridiculousness of the situation Mom and I managed to complain about the hotel for days after that stay.

The next morning was my birthday and we were scheduled to be at Mt. Rushmore later that day. I think we were glad to be leaving the dumpy hotel not so much that it was dumpy, but that it caused such a hissy fit among us. Even as we were leaving early that morning I couldn't let it go and was still complaining about Dad's choice of accommodations. This sent Dad over the edge and he lost his temper demanding that I shut up about the whole thing already and he threatened to withhold my allowance for the day. This only upset me even more, being my birthday and all, and I expected better and preferential treatment, but Dad's anger was formidable and I went to sulking in the back seat for a few hours.

When we arrived at Mt. Rushmore tempers had cooled and things had calmed down to a normal tempo forgetting the unpleasantness of the morning. The monument itself was spectacular as usual and even Mom was impressed for the moment. Everyone had a good look at the presidents faces in the mountain and we were all happy again. The attraction had something new to offer this time, helicopter rides to view the mountain from the air. For $50, the helicopter flight was a 5 minute jaunt up in the air, an exciting bank and turn, and back down again. Well, Ted and I couldn't resist and we pleaded with Dad to let us take a helicopter ride, especially since it was my birthday and deserved something special - especially after that miserable night in that flea bag we just stayed in (but I didn't dare mention that now...) So Dad and Mom nervously watched a few flights to determine the practicality and safety of this special treat, Mom noticed and read the disclaimer and laughed that they're insured for $1,000,000, like that would make any difference. So to my surprise (I was sure they would say no) Mom and Dad agreed to the helicopter ride for me and Ted. Ted And I climbed into the seat with the pilot and buckled up and we immediately took off into the air, It was totally exciting and I wasn't afraid at all, the sensation of flying in a helicopter gives you the feeling of freedom and weightlessness. I don't even really remember seeing Mt. Rushmore being too enthralled with the actual flying in the helicopter. After a short time the pilot made a sharp turn and bank and looking off to the right out the door of the helicopter, we were looking straight down off the side, it was so cool. A short time later we landed and it was the shortest 5 minutes I ever spent. Dad and Mom greeted us, and they sincerely felt just as excited about our adventure as we did, noting how the bank the pilot made for us appeared more extreme and exciting than some of the other flights they observed, Ted and I felt privileged and somehow thought the pilot considered us especially brave and deserving of an exciting maneuver. Mom was now relieved we didn't crash and had to explain to Ted's parents he died in a fiery helicopter accident. My sisters seemed a little put out and jealous but resigned they were too little to fly. I thanked Dad profusely and decided to forget about the dumpy hotel forever, this helicopter ride more than made up for that miserable night. After the helicopter ride we took one last look at Mt. Rushmore and then all got into the car and proceeded to the next destination. Ted and I were pumped for hours and talked about nothing but the helicopter.

Later that evening we arrived in Rapid City, and much to everyone's relief Dad was feeling nice and found us an especially attractive and unusual motel to stay for the night, a complete contrast to the night before, It might've been just luck but it was one of the nicest, roomy and clean motels during that whole trip, which goes to show how unpredictable events on our trip can be. But in any case it was a nice and memorable conclusion for my birthday.