Alabama Hills and Sierra Nevada.

Kids on the Dragon.

The school trimester ends right before Thanksgiving, and reports sheets and conferences await us. Our children have no problems with school, hence it is an altogether boring affair. Perhaps Lisa pleasantly surprised; it would seem that she may be not such a blonde as she appears to be. She got used to longer school hours and does not come down tired in the afternoon, thus things go easy. Sometimes, exceptions happen like Lisa's trip to a farm, or bats visiting in Tom's class. It seems that the animals caused much excitement. The children did not talk about anything else for a week leading up to the day, and thereafter Tom would lecture everybody that they should not use pesticides in the yards, for if the bats eat poisoned insects, they themselves may die. And both children (Lisa must repeat everything her older brother does) walked around wrapped in blankets and tried to "sleep" like bats (they would lie down on kitchen chairs and lift their feet).

Weather forecast for Thanksgiving looked more like Indian summer than start of the winter. Thus it was decided — last year we had spent this holiday "properly" at home with a turkey roast; this year we would get out on a trip. On Thursday we put our bags in the bus instead of a bird in the oven, and drove out. Our favorite Thai restaurant in Paso Robles was closed (on Thanksgiving, practically everything is closed), but window of a café next door was illuminated by an optimistic OPEN sign. In the end, we were pleasantly surprised by this otherwise weird looking formica joint. The food was common (sandwiches and such), but great tasting, fish & chips fresh, made on spot.

A trail to Mt. Whitney.

Climbing in Candy Store area.

We had reached our destination, Lone Pine, after dark. It's true that our obligatory Tehachapi cost us some time, where we even spotted a train in the Loop — railway men must be working through holidays. In Lone Pine we concluded that we could not dawdle and choose for too long, and entered the first restaurant that we found open. We got in just before evening rush. Besides a few groups of threadbare, dusty and obviously camping adventurers, guests consisted of nationally very diverse mix, who, apparently like us, don't feel the urge to celebrate Thanksgiving with the wider family — respectively, who don't have such a family available, or have decided to use four consecutive days off for a greater trip.

Even my family chose altogether voluntarily to stay in Lone Pine, that is, in the vicinity. First we drove up along Whitney Portal Road to its very end, to a trail-head to the highest California mountain. We managed to convince the kids to hike at least a little part of the trail, but as soon as it emerged from a shady and cold forest onto sun-drenched slopes, where most of the snow had melted away, juniors began to protest that they want back and wade in the snow. So we returned to the parking lot, where we witnessed several experiments with ice strength at the brook (no-one got wet!), and much digging in the powder snow. I admit it was not much fun for me — and I was feeling cold.

Stretching on the edge.

Tom climbing.

Under the guise of lunch I lured my family into a lower altitude, to an area known as Candy Store in Alabama Hills. There, in the sunshine, we could have a picnic in comfort, although the kids were more interested in running around. Hippo belayed me obligingly, listening to my cursing on Kit Kat (5.10a) and Werner's Werthers (5.8). Kit Kat looks the easier of the two routes, but features an ugly spot right under the rappelling anchor. Eventually I ended threading my rope through both routes' rings, and I could give them both another try. Then I discovered that one can get to the anchor from Rock Candy (5.10d) and I did this "D" top-rope. One could sense how little I climb outdoors; even with top rope, this route was stressful for me.

Then I tortured my family on (apparently) Tootsie Pop (5.6). Kids partially climbed and partially kept running away — Lisa had spent half of the day by giving names to various rock formations in the vicinity, ripping sheets of paper from her notepad and affixing labels. Thus we were bound to urge our prospectors to pack their gear (i.e. collect all their papers) and we moved on to the other side of Alabama Hills. This years magnificent view was spoiled by an incredible count of motor-homes haphazardly parked among the rocks — apparently some ATV folks get-together was underway. Still we managed to check out one area with a rock arch in a relative privacy. Children were asking to have a traditional pizza after climbing — they also serve beer there, and Hippo and I were not objecting, in principle.

Lisa on Candy.

Shadow play.

On Saturday we were resolved to fulfill the kid's wishes and go to Death Valley. Since they endured my climbing half-day, we could endure some rolling on sand dunes. We had been to those dunes quite frequently in recent times, and so we kept thinking with Hippo, what ELSE could we potentially do to make it more interesting. And as we were driving along the road to Death Valley, we noticed a turn-off to Saline Valley. We passed it by mere two or three hundred yards — that's how long it took us to decide to leave the highway and our original plans, and head somewhere else altogether. Some people suffer incontrollable shakes, others live with compulsive shopping; we are uncontrollable road-trippers.

I admit right away that from my side, it was not quite a fully informed decision. I had driven down that road only twice — and each time we headed across Hunter Mountain to Teakettle Junction and Racetrack. This time we wanted to turn left before Hunter Mountain to Saline Valley, taking a road we did not know. I lived under an impression that I would be some twenty miles (it was, uhm, fifty). I also remembered that back then with Kubackis the road was nicely bulldozed and navigable in our wagon with no problems. This time we were sitting in our minivan (without a four-wheel drive of our wagon). And we certainly did not want to drive all the way to Racetrack, and absolutely not through Lippincott Canyon.

A small arch at Alabama Hills.

We went on and off road...

Well, the first problem showed up on our way to Hunter Mountain. It was a way, but not quite a road — after last winter, a herd of jeeps must have passed through here, but nothing that would qualify as a road maintenance. The road had turned into a dry creek bed, with boulders the size of kids' heads covering most signs of traffic. We figured that this situation would change up on the mountain (as the creek would not flow up there), and it would get better. It's true that on the summit things looked more like a road and less like a creek, but the smooth, problem-less, although dirty road from the times three years back, was hopelessly gone.

Yet we remained of the opinion that the worst was behind us, and we decided not to give up — and we also did not feel like returning through the creek section — we thought it more reasonable to finish the stretch to Saline Valley and from there to reach highway 395 over the northern and more traveled road. To be brief — after three fords (not cars: creek crossings, of which at least one looked really frightening) and two more hours of rattling through a creek bed (this time down the other side of the hill), we reached the turn-off for Lippincott Canyon. Again with a false impression that from this point IT HAD TO GET BETTER. It did not. We just met more cars — I must say that the looks on the faces of fully off-road equipped jeepers, when they saw a white bus, were priceless.

...but eventually we reached Saline Valley!

Kids sped off into the dunes.

Still the road did not improve, providing us with more adventurous moments than I considered safe. Eventually we reached the DUNES, which are smaller than those in Death Valley, but are not contaminated by millions of tourists. The kids enthusiastically disappeared in the sands, later mined clay tiles from a huge dried-up pool between the dunes. I drove from the dunes on — I almost got us lost in soft sand once, for it takes quite a skill to negotiate a dry deep sand gulch with a bus. Sometimes in the middle of the afternoon the incredible had happened and we got to the hot springs. These are regularly occupied by elderly hippies, completely naked, as it is proper for such place, hence we joined a pleasant company, thoroughly relaxing before our next trip leg. Unlike the friendly nude people, we did not bring our camping gear; instead we had a booked hotel room in Lone Pine.

When we were crawling through the treacherous dunes that hide dried creek beds formed by flush floods, we spotted a herd of wild donkeys. I stopped to allow us take a good look at them, before the shy animals run away. In next seconds one of the donkeys expressed a wish to join us in our car and drive away with us. We may have motivated him with a bag of carrots, but I was quite surprised how friendly he was. Lisa was in seventh heaven. Fortunately the donkey let us convince him that his other friends were waiting for him, and we left without a new passenger. Still Lisa got an experience lasting for many weeks, and she keeps making donkey sounds at home.

An encounter with a wild donkey.

Driving back was not much easier.

The rest of the way elapsed without more stowaways. The northern section of the road turned out to be much better than the southern connection, which we took earlier — but it still was a dirt road. This one looked like someone would bulldoze it sometimes (with said machines occasionally parked in the desert by the side). I was worried about our having to cross the mountains, with packed snow laying on the road, but the bus handled it well. The sun had set just a view to the Sierra Nevada skyline opened before us. What a relief — in the valley underneath, highway 395 runs wide and paved — finally now we REALLY had the worst behind us. And we managed it during daylight!

We had a dinner in our lately least frequented type of restaurant that Lone Pine offers — Chinese. We liked the food very much and we met the owner and cook in one person. She turned out to be the same person who used to own a Chinese place in Ridgecrest where we had dined then. Small world.

Back in Alabama Hills.

Leonosphere

We only had a morning for lingering outdoors on Sunday. I must say that I had married well, for my Hippo suggested all by himself to get back to Alabama Hills and check out areas where we had not been before. We found ourselves under Hodgie wall, where I longingly watched long, from the look of it, easy lines. Juniors disappeared again in the maze of rocks and caves, I spotted some climbers around the corner, and went to ask them about the place. They said that what I had seen would be some 5.8, so I roped up and climbed in. Kids and Hippo declined to climb, but Hippo belayed and kids took pictures — some of me, and some of Lisa's stuffed cat.

The drive home was long; when we crossed Interstate Five, it was totally jammed and it was frustrating to wade through the congregation of gas stations and fast foods at the intersection — especially among the huge, clumsy trucks. A reopened Thai restaurant welcomed us in Paso Robles, and we ordered our favorite "home" food, which helped us negotiate subsequent jam around Gilroy. After all, this had been a holiday when most people drive out. Although I doubt that any of them are as crazy as we are, and drove where we did...