What is that Awful Smell?

Son Steve writes...
Unlike my older brother and his PF Flyers I had wide, fat feet which would only fit in one style of shoe brown Hush Puppies. And the only place that sold brown Hush Puppies was in Wausau. Back then we only bought clothes and shoes once a year and that was at the end of the summer right before school started, well that isn’t totally true, I often got long underwear for my birthday in January. I wasn’t in school yet but I still got to get new shoes.

Brown Hush Puppies, while not as cool as PF Flyers, did have their strengths. For one they were completely water proof, which had the unfortunate side effect of not letting moisture out of the shoe from the inside. PF Flyers could make you run faster and jump higher but brown Hush Puppies could create an impenetrable force field around you protecting you from unwanted intruders and back to school shoppers.

Case in point, one summer afternoon, on our yearly trip to Wausau for school clothes and shoes. It was a hot day, not Kansas hot but we didn’t know any better yet. Anyway it was a hot day, we were in the car for the one hour drive to Wausau and I decided to take off my brown Hush Puppies to let my feet cool off. Being the youngest I will freely admit that I was somewhat spoiled so I was in the front seat with mom and dad, which gave me unrestricted access to the cool air vents in the station wagon.

I casually propped my hot sweaty feet up in front of the air vent and listened to the moaning begin from my siblings in the back seat. That moaning turned to yelling and at some point perhaps vomiting. For on this day I was not wearing socks with my brown Hush Puppies so in the year old shoes my sweaty feet had become exceptionally bad smelling. The smell that filled the station wagon an instant later was horrifying. The police once asked to bottle that scent to use for tear gas but it was impossible to duplicate in the lab.

When we arrived in Wausau the story took a turn for the, well, worse. Sitting on the sidewalk outside of the clothing stores waiting for the older kids to get their school clothes (for some reason mom and dad didn’t let me go in the stores) I noticed that the side walk on my side of the street was empty. Then I noticed people would walk toward me, get within range of my feet, cross the street with their hands over their noses walk past me, then cross the street back to my side of the street out of range. Several times passers by were heard to mutter phrases like “did you smell that kid’s feet” and “my God what is that horrible smell?”.

I didn’t get a new pair of brown Hush Puppies that day. I am pretty sure the shoe store wouldn’t have let me try on shoes that day. So dad stuffed my old brown Hush Puppies back on me for the one hour ride home. I don’t remember as much moaning and screaming on the way home so the smell must have been slightly less offensive with the shoes on.

Studded Snow Tires

Son Steve writes...
I was 5 when we moved from Wisconsin to Kansas so I don’t have a great deal of memories of living in Tomahawk, but I do have one that sticks out.

One cold and wintery night my best friend Billy was over at the house playing. It was time for Billy to go home, probably supper time but I don’t remember that part. It was dark, cold and snowy like it always is in my memories of Wisconsin.

Dad had just purchased a new set of studded snow tires for the car. I say they were new but knowing dad and our family’s financial situation at the time I am guessing they were “No Huntin” brand. Anyway dad was very proud of these new tires and wanted to show off their capabilities, so he offered to drive Billy home, more than a block away.

We bundled up in our best warm clothes (I hope mom didn’t put tights on me but I am sure she did, another childhood memory from my days in Tomahawk) and headed off into the night to find the car. Dad put us in the front seat of the car, started her up (I don’t remember the make and model of the car but I am pretty sure it was a station wagon of some sort) unplugged the extension cord, jumped in and let her warm up.

After the warming up period was complete dad slapped the shifter into reverse, looked at Billy and I and said “are you ready?”. “Yeah!!!!” was the resounding reply, after all, we had been hearing tales of the miracles that these new tires could perform and now we were about to be among the first to witness this new standard of tire performance.

The frivolity had barely settled when dad stomped on the accelerator. The station wagon lurched backwards with tremendous acceleration followed by a deafening crash and an equal and opposite deceleration. We turned around to find that the whole world had turned red, or so it seemed to a 4 year old kid. Actually it was tail lights of the car illuminating the tree that dad had just backed into.Yes that’s right dad had slammed full speed into a tree backwards. Thanks to the new studded snow tires we were able to get enough traction to really ram that sucker

Chicken Chow Mein

Son Steve writes...

Let me start by saying I hate Chinese food. Why I hate Chinese food is a long story that started with bare feet and ended with “the Hamlin curse”.

When we first moved to Kansas in August of 1972 our house wasn’t ready for us to move into so we stayed at the Holiday Inn in Lawrence for a few days. Like most motels there was a restaurant in the parking lot. I don’t know the name of the restaurant, I think my mind might be blocking as often happens when the brain wants to forget a particularly traumatic event.

Anyway it was summer and like most kids I didn’t like wearing shoes in the summertime, this isn’t the stinky feet story, that is for another time. So when we went to the restaurant for dinner that evening I was barefoot. Upon seeing that I had no shoes the waitress told my parents “I can’t serve him because he doesn’t have shoes on.” I remember my mom saying “a five year old kid you have to be kidding”. She wasn’t.

So we go around the table making our order and I ordered Chicken Chow Mein. While we waited for our food mom took me back to the room to get a pair of shoes. So back I went with shoes on, problem solved, or so I thought.

At this point in the story I think I should explain what the Hamlin curse is because I think this is where it all started. Whenever I go out to eat with other people, it can be one other person or it can be 50 it doesn’t matter, something always goes wrong. Some incidents are worse than others ranging from a whole table of us not being served at a Christmas party to getting Sprite instead of water. The only constant is that something always goes wrong. It happens so often that I don’t even get upset anymore.

Anyway back to 1972, we went back to the restaurant with shoes on and joined the family for dinner. Soon everyone’s order showed up and everyone began eating, everyone that is except for me. No chicken chow mein to be found anywhere. “Um excuse me miss, my son didn’t get his order.” I brought you everything that you ordered. “um, no you didn’t, he ordered chicken chow mein.” Well I didn’t turn it in because he didn’t have shoes on.

That was the moment that I no longer liked Chinese food. Everyone ate, I watched and waited for chicken chow mein. Everyone finished their meal, no chicken chow mein. Everyone left to go back to the room (except me and mom) no chicken chow mein. We finally gave up on the chicken chow mein and went back to the room.

And with that the Hamlin curse was born.
To this day I have not ordered nor eaten chicken chow mein, and I have not had a meal out with other people where something didn’t go wrong.

Walking to School

Son Steve writes...

As anyone reading this will probably know the Hamlin family moved from Tomahawk, WI to Eudora, KS in August of 1972. This happened to coincide with me beginning kindergarten.

If you have ever been to Kansas in August you know that it is the hottest month of the year and for some reason the most humid. Temperatures regularly top 100 degrees at this time of year in Kansas, which makes this tale especially amazing.

Our house in Eudora was exactly 1 mile from the grade school that I attended. Each morning mom would get me ready for school and armed with a small bottle of water off we went to trek the mile to the school. Now I won’t say it was up hill both ways or driving snow or any of those old cliché’s but it was Kansas and it was August.

Mom had to walk me to school each day because we didn’t have a second car and dad took the one we had (a station wagon of course) to work in Lawrence. So we really had no choice, I would like to say that were ahead of our time and thinking green and all that but we just didn’t have a second car.

Anyway, off we went to school every day, then mom would turn around and walk home and then being kindergarten she would come back at noon to pick me up. So while I walked 2 miles a day mom walked 4. Did I mention that this was August in Kansas.

Being a 5 year old kid I don’t remember the effect me the heat had on me, but you have to remember we had just moved from Wisconsin a few days earlier. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable mom must have been walking 4 miles a day just to take me to school and back in 100+ degree temperatures. In August it never really cools off, the night time lows rarely get below 90 degrees, so even the mornings were hot and sticky.

I don’t remember how long this situation lasted before we got a car or mom found me a ride but even a week is admirable for a mother to endure to get her kindergartner to school.

Skating Backwards and Other Feats of Daring

Daughter Teri writes...

A lot of my memories go back to cold and frozen winters in Wisconsin. Growing up close to the Wisconsin River, we had what we called a pond in the back yard. We couldn't wait for it to freeze over for the winter. After dad made sure it was frozen enough for us to play on, us older kids would spend the day shoveling the show off of our very own "ice rink". After dinner we would all put our snow suits on strap on our ice skates and away we would go. Mom had to stay in the house with Steve who was little at the time, but was watching out the picture window, as we made our way to the pond. Me, being the third child, was always in awe of the great moves that Kim and Scot were able to do. After all the were only 1 or 2 years my senior. I always wanted to be able to skate like them. Little did I know that they were taught by a true professional. Our father. So, I thought I could learn a few of his tricks too. As a young and impressionable girl you are to always taught to trust your father, after all he loved me and he would only want to help me right? Well, remember who we are talking about here. He would alway agree and promise that "I will teach you to skate backwards". Cool right, I could hardly skate forwards but how cool would it be to be able to skate "backwards". Yeah,Yeah I would say, thinking I was going to look like all those professional skaters. He would line me up in front of him, and with Kim and Scot cheering him on, he would proceed to push me backwards, right into the snowbank. They would all get a good laugh out of it, and I'm sure that I would scurry up to the house crying to mom. I don't think I ever master that whole skating backwards thing but, it sure brings back a lot of great memories. I love you Mom and Dad, thanks for the great memories.

My first Easter as a Hamlin

Daughter-In-Law Laura writes...

I married into the Hamlin family in 1992 marrying the baby of the family(Steve). My first Easter at the Hamlin home in Eudora was quite memorable. In my family we always celebrated Easter by having an easter egg hunt(real eggs that we had decorated) in our big country backyard. We usually had the hunt in the morning or sometimes in the afternoon after attending church and having a big family dinner. If we did have candy, it was always later in the day after we had eaten a meal.

Well, was I in for a new adventure in 1993. We arrived at the Hamlin home I believe the evening before Easter. On Easter Sunday we all attended mass and then came home to the Hamlin home. It was probably around 10 or 10:30 am and the Easter Egg Hunt began. The grandkids at that time were Zac, Hannah, Jason, Caleb, Jordan and Travis. All of the grandkids went out and hunted to their heart's delight and found tons of chocolate candy, jelly beans, malted milk eggs and much more. Everyone returned indoors and sat around the living room visiting and eating candy. This continued for the next 2 hours or more! I watched as the adults stuffed their faces with candy and more candy and the children continued doing the same. I finally asked Steve at around 1 pm if we were going to have lunch anytime soon as I was about to pass out from hunger. Little did I know that I was supposed to be eating candy for the past 2 hours to keep my blood sugar up. I finally went to the frig and found a piece of cheese or a sandwich to keep from passing out.

Finally around 2:30 in the afternoon we had lunch. For some reason the children didn't really feel hungry and just kind of picked at their food! Shortly after lunch, Caleb walked over to the couch and proceeded to PUKE(Spew,Vomit,Barf) whatever you like to call it, in Hannah's shoes and all over the couch. Wow, I would have never guessed that that might happen! After only 4-5 hours of eating candy one of the kids got sick! It was certainly a memorable holiday for me.

Piano Moving and Other Hazardous Activites

Son Steve writes...

In most families moving furniture is not considered hazardous, I said MOST families, not our family.

It all started one fine Saturday morning in central Kansas. The sun was out, the temperature was 75 and the south wind had not yet awoken from it’s nightly nap to rage at the day at 50 mph. It was on this typical July morning that I picked up the moving truck from my local truck rental agency in Salina. Knowing that the heaviest piano ever constructed was waiting for me in Hays (about 100 miles away), I was facing the drive with trepidation.

The drive was uneventful, as most drives across the western Kansas are, buffalo roamed, deer played, (that whole antelope thing is a bunch of crap!) and skies were not cloudy all day, only for a few hours in the afternoon when a storm blew in and got all the stuff that was still in the back of pickup trucks all wet. I wish I could say that discouraging words were seldom heard, but well, we were moving a piano after all.

Arriving at my new bride’s old house in Hays I suddenly got a chill and a sense of foreboding. Then I saw it, her grandmother’s piano, a beautiful mahogany full size upright piano with a cast iron soundboard. How bad can it be I thought to myself, I have moved pianos before, it isn’t a big deal. I was wrong.

Moving the piano out of the old house was a breeze. Backed the truck up in the front yard, extended the walkway plank out of the back of the truck right to the door jam of the house. Me on one side and two of my friends on the other, we were 25 and bullet proof, what could an old piano do to harm us?!? We got the piano into the back of the box truck, loaded Laura’s remaining possessions and waved goodbye to Hays, Kansas.

After another exhilarating drive across the grassy plains of western Kansas, described by early explores alternately as “The Great American Desert” and “A Rolling Mass of Nothing”, the piano and I arrived back at our new home in Salina. Awaiting us was my father and mother, my new stepson, several friends and a few curious onlookers who had heard the legend of grandma’s piano.

Almost immediately the trouble began, the new house had two 40” maple trees in the front yard, one of which was parked directly in front of the front door, so backing the box truck up to the front door, as we had done at the old house, was out of the question. We could have cut down the tree I suppose, and the engineer in me thought this was the most logical solution to the problem, how long could it take to grow a new one? But my new bride was instant that she knew more about trees than I do so the tree remained.

Without backing the truck up to the door the walkway was useless, well not entirely it did get in the way later causing the nearly fatal mishap that was to happen later.

\In a matter of a few minutes all the items were removed from the back of the truck, everything that is except the piano. How do you get a 1000 lb piano out of the back of a truck that is 4 feet off the ground? With a ramp of course! The walkway plank extended to the ground making a ramp just wide enough for the piano. We lifted it off the back of the truck onto the ramp and slowly slid it down to the ground. In fact it worked so well that someone suggested that we prop it up the front stairs of the house to ramp into the house in a similar manor.

With the ramp in place there was only enough room for one person in the doorway of the house, did I mention I was 25 and bullet proof?, so I got a good grip the old girl, lifted her up and got ready to move her into the house. About that time I felt what can only be described as a strange sensation on the side of my head followed by a sudden narrowing of my field of vision, my foot slipped off the door lintel onto the ramp turning my ankle as it slid off the ramp onto the concrete step. While all of this was happening I heard my new stepson say “mom, Steve’s head was stuck in the door”. What?!?, that would explain the pain, near loss of consciousness and falling off the lintel/ramp/step. How could this have happened? Well the explanation was really very simple, my father and the other 50 people gathered around had decided to push on the piano at the exact instant that I lifted the other end. Normally this would have worked perfectly by the sudden movement knocked me off balance, pinning my head between the corner of the piano and the door frame. Unfortunately the freight train that is my father and all who were assisting him on this particular day could not stop suddenly and continued to push their end of the piano oblivious to my condition.

Fortunately I inherited a hard head from one of my parents (you can determine for yourself which one) and no permanent damage was done to me, the piano or the door frame and after two or three more futile attempts at getting the piano through the doorway the mission was finally accomplished with no further injuries.

Craig-O-Leigh

Son Steve writes...

Craig-O-Leigh or Pig-O as it is affectionately referred to amongst any of us lucky enough to fall victim to it’s charms, was a small run down resort in Pineville, MO.

My first trip to Pig-O was when I was in 7th grade. My parents and their friends Veet and Rudy Cleveland decided to go on a canoe trip in southern Missouri. Clevelands brought their youngest son Shawn who was 3 or 4 years older than me.

After a rather uneventful 5 hour drive from Eudora to Pineville we arrived to find that no one in Pineville had ever heard of Craig-O-Leigh, not a good sign seeing as how this was supposed to be a “resort”. Finally after asking all 13 people in town one grizzled old pioneer had heard a legend about a Hollywood film director who had moved to the Pineville area in the 1930’s to open a resort. “That must be it” dad said, “how do we get there?”

And thus the real adventure began, at the end of a barely maintained mostly dirt road that lead east out of town we found a collection of rundown “cabins” that looked like something out of a “Beverly Hillbillies” introduction. Each had a wooden shingle nailed to the side with a name on it. On this particular adventure we stayed at “Clyde”, later as more of the family members joined the Pig-O experience we moved to “Ivanhoe” the two story cabin, but that is a tale for another time, for now we will concentrate on “Clyde”.

Clyde was a small 2 room (well 3 if you count the closet that was turned into a bathroom/shower at some point in time) shack, shack is being kind. The floorboards were full of holes, cracks and protruding nails. A screened in porch served as the bedroom with two full size “beds”. Needless to say a high school student did not want to share a bedroom with his parents so Shawn decided to sleep outside on the picnic table (but more on that later).

Mom and Veet were less than impressed with Craig-O-Leigh even when they found out that the “Jesse James Cave” was near by. Turns out that the place really had been started by an ex-Hollywood movie director and his crowning achievement was a film about Jesse James, a local hero to the area whom gained some notoriety as an outlaw in the late 1800’s. The aforementioned cave was used in the movie as a hideout for Mr. James and his “gang”.










Upon walking a narrow path around a rock bluff hill there was indeed a cave. From the east side of the cave extended an unkempt and deteriorating stairway that led down to the road below. Legend had it that the cave was shown to tourists until the 1940’s for some nominal cost and the stairway remained from that time.

As exciting as the cave turned out to be it was not the reason we had drive to southern Missouri over Labor Day weekend. We came to canoe, something none of us had ever done before.
Canoeing doesn’t really sound that hard, you put all your stuff in a canoe jump in and float down the river. At some designated point along the river the “resort” staff picks you and the canoe up and you ride back to the “resort” on an old dilapidated school bus. That’s all there is to it, not too complicated, we thought.

By the end of August the rivers in southern Missouri are pretty dry. So instead of floating we had to do a lot of dragging (read portaging) the canoe. When we were in the water overhanging branches and sunken stumps were constant obstacles to be feared. On several occasions one or more of our group of 3 canoes was upside down and had to be dragged to the side of the river to be righted. Remember how I said you put all your stuff in the canoe? Well the first time you tip over you can guess what happens to your stuff, including your sun tan lotion. Which brings me to my fondest memory of the trip.

You know how when you are on the water the sun’s power is intensified from the sun reflecting off the water? Well I know that too, now. Unfortunately I didn’t know it then. After a whole day of playing in the water, floating, dragging, turning the canoe back over and chasing flotsam down the river, my Norwegian/Belgian skin was fried to a crisp, especially my legs. To this day I do not wear shorts outside during the summer. I was so burned that I could hardly stand it. Someone, I believe it was my mom, but it could have been Veet recommended that I put lotion on my burned legs to keep them from peeling. Peeling? Hell I thought they were going to burst into flames, but I did what I was told. Now you probably know that the best thing for a burn is to leave it out to breath and perhaps use a small amount of aloe on it. Well I know that too now. Needless to say the lotion did not keep my legs from peeling but it did keep them from breathing and thus made them hurt even more.


So when night came, after at least a 90 degree day, the cool weather was too much to resist so I joined Shawn outside to try to sleep. As I stated earlier Shawn has scoped out the picnic table when we had first arrived so I found a couple of lawn chairs to sprawl out in. At this point I think it is important that I describe the terrain surrounding Pig-O. The “resort” lies in a cleft of a rocky crag of hills. The entire place is covered with broken and jagged rocks about the size of a softball, any one of which could easily have been used by cavemen as an axe. The ground is very uneven and falls are a constant source of terror. Clyde was at the headwaters of a dry creek bed that flowed through the camp. In the wet season the creek would swell to a raging torrent capable of tearing the flesh off of any living thing caught in it’s path, but that didn’t happen on this trip. Anyway, Clyde was on one face of the canyon left by the dry creek and you parked above the cabin to the west.

The picnic table was south of the cabin perched on the edge of the canyon. It was in the bottom of this canyon (about 20 feet down) that we found Shawn the next morning. It was never clear if Shawn rolled off the table or if he got up to heed natures call in the middle of the night but either way the first light of day found him scraped and bruised 10 yard from where he had gone to sleep the night before. That was the first of many Cleveland injuries at Craig-O-Leigh.

That was how it all started. My dad had such a great time that he decided that Pig-O would be our families Labor Day destination for several years to come, and each year Clevelands joined us. Each year the event grew and one of the Clevelands got hurt.






My last trip to Craig-O-Leigh was Labor Day Weekend 1995 with my stepson Travis Seirer.
Craig-O-Leigh holds many fond memories. I am sure that others have memories of their own to add.

Note: Teri contributed these Pig-O photos from the years when the Hamlin and Cleveland families made the trek to Pineville for Labor Day.

The Worst Vacation EVER!

Daughter Kim writes...

I work in the tech industry. In 1999 I went back to be engineering director at a small company where I had worked for most of 1990s as a computer programmer. Because I was familiar with the "legacy" programs, I automatically became the Y2K compliance guy. It was my job to convince management and our customers that our installed software was not going to implode on January 1,2000. I worked countless nights and weekends and by fall, it seemed I was sleeping at that place in order to get the Y2K compliance project wrapped up.

At the same time, Southwest Airlines came into the KC airport and offered$50 round trip tickets to Chicago. I had been working so hard and so many long hours that I decided that I wanted to splurge on a vacation and take all the nieces and nephews to Chicago to the Science and Industry Museum for their Spring Break(a place I remembered with awe from when I was a kid).
I conspired with all the Moms and Dads and convinced at least one adult from each family to go along on the trip with me and Grandma and Gramps and the kids. Chicago had just opened a brand new convention center. I booked rooms there. One of my friends grew up in Chicago and a friend of the family ran a limo service. So I booked limos to pick us up at the airport and take us to the hotel. On Christmas morning, the kids each opened a package that told them they were going to Chicago for Spring Break in March. It was a glorious Christmas. Everybody was so excited.

Then March came in like a lion as they say. The trip was a complete disaster. Everything that could go wrong did. I am not exaggerating. Literally, everything that could go wrong DID! I was so tired and stressed after all my long hours working that I couldn't stop crying at my dream vacation gone bad.

Come to think of it, the blog is actually the perfect forum for this story because everybody that went on the trip can add the part of the disaster that they remember best.
John, Joann, Tom, Zac, Jason, Hannah, Caleb, Jordie--none of you guys have blogged here yet. You were all part of this giant disaster. I expect each of you can add something that I've since chosen to forget.
Now let's start the story...

Those of you that don't live in Kansas may not know that Kansas is the primo spot for meteorologists. They love it here. We have tornados, floods, extreme hot, extreme cold and it is completely unpredictable. Often the temperature drops or rises 40 or 50 degrees in one day. On the day we are scheduled to leave for our Spring Break Chicago trip it is snowing. Snowing a lot. We called the airport to confirm our flights and all things were go so we headed out the the airport. Everybody checked in. We all got our boarding passes and then we sat. And sat. And sat. Now this was pre-9/11 air travel so there were people everywhere in the terminal. All of them were waiting just like we were. Some were trying to get on planes. Some were there to see off traveling relatives and would return to their KC area homes as soon as planes left the ground. Our group was mostly pre-teen and teenage kids so we parked ourselves on the floor against the wall--leaving the chairs for older people. As time passed, people started milling around. No one can just sit for that long. As kids will do, my nieces and nephews found a way to keep themselves occupied.

When we checked in, Southwest airlines gave each of us a boarding pass. These were large re-usable plastic cards with a passenger count number printed on them (not seat numbers like the more traditional airlines). So we had cards with numbers like 19, 38, 24. We had a big group so we had lots of cards among us. Now remember that the kids were sitting on the floor along the walls and people were walking in the hallways passing by them like it was a parade or something. Next thing I know, the people walking by are stopping and pointing. Some of these people are irritated, some are laughing and the kids are all giggling. The boys had collected everybody's boarding passes and were "rating" the girls that walked by them in the "parade" by holding up the plastic boarding cards with the numbers on them. Moms of girls that got high scores pointed and laughed. Moms of girls that got low scores were offended. Some of them berated the boys which caused huge outbursts of laughter as soon as the offended Mom rounded the corner in the terminal hall.

Finally, the decision was made. Too much snow and the planes were grounded. Everyone would have to come back tomorrow for rescheduled flights. The next day, we got up really early, went back to the airport. Flights were leaving KC! We boarded our plane and we were off. Unfortunately, the storm that grounded us the night before had moved in a northeasterly direction and no planes were landing in Chicago. I'll stop here and let somebody else pick up on the Ohio part of our trip from KC to Chicago.

Go West Young Man...

Son Scot writes...

Where to start? Ma, I guess that’s who started this one. She said to me “you and your father should deliver that guitar to Jason”, so I guess it starts with Ma and a guitar.Jason, of late, is living in Livermore CA, 30 or so miles east of San Francisco. He has been playing some open mic type gigs and was in need of a decent guitar. I designed what I intend to be a good solid no frills instrument for him and gave it one special feature, a Wolfman inlay, of mother of pearl. You see, to us he is and always will be Jason, to the rest of the world he is Wolfman, Wolf to his friends. I’m not sure just when or where he picked up this moniker but he is Wolf.

Ma gave me only one instruction, “your father is not to drive in California, he’s awful!” Awful or not he picked me up in the pre-dawn darkness and we were off. Off like a herd of turtles…it seems that the geniuses at American Airlines dictate that the route from Kansas City to San Francisco passes through Chicago. We’ve some experience of this black hole of travel so we were less that enthusiastic about this layover. I guess the Chicago curse has expired, or maybe it only applies if Kim is along. We were soon winging our way to the coast.

We arrived safe and sound, the three of us, Dad, me and the Wolfman. A steady cold rain greeted us, a steady cold rain and Jason along with his lady friend, Gina.

Pop and I had thought that we would rent a car but when we saw Jason’s truck we decided that we would rather just drive it. It’s not much to look at but it runs good, well, it runs…it’s a 1980 Chevy pickup and he has installed a high tech theft deterrent system…the bed of the truck is half full of trash. It turns out that in California the cost of dumping trash is so high that a thief will just keep on looking rather than take on that burden. We did our part and added a pretty good collection of empty drink containers and food wrappers. (you’re welcome Wolfie!)


Pop and I toured the plains and mountains of the area (me driving) while Jason toiled away at his job during the day and then we went out for dinner and music at night. On one occasion we stayed out until after 9:00pm! We enjoyed day trips to Santa Cruz and San Francisco and a memorable afternoon wandering in a beautiful grove of majestic Sequoia trees.

Neither pictures or words can convey the nature of those fleeting moments, surrounded by those giants, walking on the compacted remains of centuries of leavings toped by a winters worth of snow. It really was the icing on the cake in very many ways.

I will forever be grateful to everyone involved in making this journey so special. We met new friends, stood at the feet of giants, followed a path into the clouds, and a thousand other things that will continue to occur to me as time and distance provides the perspective that I cant seem to find just yet.

P.S. Pop did have to drive one time in California, no matter how “awful”, I celebrated the great reception that my guitar received with a few glasses of beer and Pop got us the six blocks to the hotel in good shape (sorry Ma).