Chasing Wonders

My entry into the world of blogging needs to be prefaced with an explanation of what motivated me to consider such an atypical move. My job doesn't involve the necessity of a blog, nor do my interests/hobbies. I'm not a member of any club or society which revolves around blogging. So why, exactly, would I open a Blogger account and begin this undoubtedly pain-in-the-ass venture?

The answer is for posterity. For my daughter, Brianne. At the freshly-minted age of sixteen, she's firmly in that population of teens who see their parents as disconnected sources of potential anxiety and embarrassment among their peer group (what the hell is SnapChat?!). Wallet-fishing and transportation-providing are really the only things parents are good for at this age. Which is nothing new. Been happening since time immemorial. Parents don't have a lot of depth in most teens' perception, but as time passes we do begin to appreciate that maybe our parents weren't so shallow as we thought, and might have actually caught a clue every now and again.

This blog is an attempt on my part to hopefully flesh out Brianne's perspective of her mom and dad in the years ahead, as well as to detail events that occurred when she was younger. She was telling me the other day that when she has a family of her own she plans to travel a lot, specifically to many of the places we've taken her as a child. She's determined to do this since she simply doesn't remember much about those grand trips to all the national parks in the American west. As I thought about this, I decided to get some of these stories down in detail for her. Initially, I had planned to just begin writing in Word format, then the thought of a blog occurred to me. I have several friends who blog, and it seemed like a great vehicle to accomplish this goal.

So now I'm a blogger! I decided "Aging in Overdrive" was an apt name for my blog since I seem to have come to many things later in life than most people. Married at 35, a parent for the first time at 42, a hobby more suitable for someone half my age than my current 58 years. It just seemed appropriate. Many folks begin winding down the frenetic pace of their life by my age, but I'm probably busier than I've ever been. The upside is that it damn sure keeps me young! I'll try to be honest and illustrate both the good and the bad in these ruminations, but we'll start with a little of both. The subject of this first blog is The Family Vacation . . .

That's typically where you lose a lot of people. Who wants to read about, or sit through interminable photos/video of, someone else's vacation? Just shoot me now and be done with it! This little blog entry is not about a week at the beach, however, and who got burned, where we ate, what tours we took, etc. We don't screw around with vacations, and only twice in the past thirteen years have we even approached a beach (way over-rated, thank you very much). Our Family Vacations (oh yes, they deserve capitalization) are turbo-charged adventures that take place at break-neck speed at or near a national park somewhere in the West. As you will soon appreciate, turbo-charged may be an understatement. It began like this:

When Brianne was three, my wife Barb and I flew her out to Las Vegas for a week of desert fun. I know it sounds creepy, taking a three year-old to Sin City to play, but Vegas really only served as our lodging base to venture out to several nearby national parks. We certainly strolled the Strip and hit all the touristy spots that were at least semi-appropriate for a young child, but neither Barb nor I get off on gambling so those attractions quickly wore thin. The first couple of days we stayed close to Vegas, visiting Lake Mead, the Hoover Dam, and Red Rocks, but on the third day we lit out in our rental car for Arizona and a night in Flagstaff before visiting the south rim of the Grand Canyon the next day.

This middle part of our Vegas Vacation introduced us to a pattern that would quickly become a staple of our family trips: driving long distances in a rental car between national parks, after flying in to the closest major airport. Rinse and repeat, over and over and over. Thankfully, we live in Atlanta, home of the world's largest, busiest airport, so at least we never had to add layovers to our list of itinerary headaches. You can pretty much fly direct anywhere in the world from the ATL.

Our first view of the Grand Canyon absolutely stunned Barb and I. Like many at their first sight of this otherworldly landscape, we were speechless and awestruck. I had never seen anything on so grand a scale! It seemed to go on forever, with colors and texture I had never imagined existed in nature. Flabbergasted, I finally looked down at my three year-old daughter, who was casually tossing rocks over the edge of our observation area. She looked up at me and said, "Look at the big hole in the ground, daddy!" And then turned her attention back to rock-tossing.

Now, did I expect her to appreciate this majestic sight like Barb and I did? Of course not. But I did anticipate a little more kiddo-awesomeness than a ten second hole-in-the-ground observation. I tried to get her attention back on the immensity of the canyon, and the colors and depth, but it was pointless. Rock-tossing and the sudden need for a snack took precedence in her mind. She was about as impressed as Chevy Chase in that classic scene from the movie "Vacation."

During that trip we also visited Zion and Death Valley, national parks with completely different types of eye-popping coolness, but we got the same response from Bri. "Is it time for a snack yet? I'm hot. Can I have a juice box?"

I took this as a personal challenge. This kid was by-God gonna be blown away by nature's majesty, somehow, somewhere, or it was going to kill me. I didn't know where it would be or how long it would take, but Bri was going to finally lay her baby blues on a natural wonder and utter those words of  fascination I was looking for! It's probably important to point out here something any long-term parent already knows but which I, as a relatively inexperienced dad at age 45, hadn't completely twigged to yet - kids can be stubborn.

This was September of 2003. Over the next five years we spent an incredible amount of time, energy (and money) chasing the great (and lesser) parks of the American West. At least once a year, often twice, we would hop on a plane at Hartsfield-Jackson and land in some western destination. Grabbing a rental car and some supplies from the closest Wal-Mart, we would then light out for Destination Number One, with an itinerary that would make most marathoners catatonic.

We would drive hundreds of miles to a park, spend as much time as possible enjoying it before grabbing a short night at some motel. We'd be up at 5:00 a.m. and do it all over again the next day. It was insane (but thrilling). We rarely had a moment to take a breath. On one trip in particular, we drove over 2000 miles, visited seven national parks and slept in 5 different motels - all in the space of eight days. And, of course, we had coast-to-coast flights sandwiching these particular adventures.

Over those succeeding five years we managed to visit several dozen national parks and monuments between the Rockies and the Pacific. We visited every state from the Rockies westward (except Idaho - we'll get there eventually). We marveled at the incredible diversity of landscapes in the West: gargantuan, snow-capped mountain ranges; high and low desert wastelands; prairie grasslands; desolate, unforgiving badlands; mesmerizing seascapes; lush rain forests; impossible monoliths; cavernous subterranean caves; delicate sandstone arches; awe-inspiring volcanoes; a multitude of maze-like canyons; river valleys beyond description; majestic waterfalls; hoodoos, spires, towers, mesas, uplifts, faults, cliff dwellings, alpine lakes - the list could go on and on. We squeezed a lifetime of Mother Nature's eye candy into a few short but very intense years. We made friends (from a distance) with bear, buffalo, deer, mountain goats, rams, sheep, condors, wild burros, elk, marmots, coyotes, bulls, eagles, ravens, moose, and the occasional jackalope. It was breathtaking, exhilarating, and thoroughly exhausting. Trust me, you haven't lived till you've driven all the way across North Dakota, and then back across South Dakota, swinging into Montana and Wyoming just for the hell of it.

And what did our darling, bright-eyed little girl get out of all this frenzied travel? Mostly an ability to patiently sit in her car seat for hours, keeping herself quietly entertained while Mom and Dad oohed and aahed their way across America. She had fun, don't get me wrong, and always looked forward to these Family Vacation Marathons. But it was the simple things that appealed to her. The travel, the people, the food, the gift shops (helluva story there to tell some day), the motels, the uninterrupted time with Dad that she rarely got at home. And, of course, the ever-present rocks to toss. No shortage of rocks out west. Our girl has a thing for throwing rocks, so boys beware . . .

But . . . I never got that response I was looking for from her, regardless of the awesomeness of the landscape. In September of 2007 we were in Washington hiking the Freemont Trail in Mt. Rainier National Park. We turned a corner and there in all of it's immense majesty was the entire bulk of Rainier, right in our face and as up-close and personal as you could ask for. It was a rare cloudless day in the PNW and the sun was scintillating off of the 400-foot-thick glaciers capping the massive volcano. Barb and I were stopped cold, and just stared in awe at this scene before us. Bri waited patiently till we finally de-raptured, then we moved on up the trail. I remember thinking at this point that the girl was seven now, almost eight, and still didn't appreciate such a momentous natural wonder as Rainier, especially in full sunlight on an extremely rare beautiful day (it is often hidden in clouds and mist). It was a bit depressing, but I was sadly reaching the Acceptance stage of this process - the child just didn't Get It, and maybe never would.

The reason this concerned me so was that I very much wanted Bri to develop an appreciation and love for the outdoors. I grew up a city kid and had minimal exposure to these types of natural wonders until I was really in my mid-thirties. They've since become a source of inspiration and challenge for me, as well as a refuge of peace and contentment. I am absolutely happiest when I'm high in a mountain range, feeling tired but proud at having gotten there under my own power. Sitting beside a gorgeous alpine lake that few ever see, drinking in the surrounding kaleidoscope of pinnacles, peaks, towers and spires - nothing settles my soul like these moments. I wanted Bri to have that "other world" she could escape to when necessary, and that she felt comfortably safe going there. We had raised her camping and hiking from almost the time she could walk, and she loved every adventure we took into the wilderness, but I wanted her to feel a magnetic awe at nature deep down in her soul. A sense of wonderment that would never fade away, and would always be tugging at her to return. A "Happy Place", as my wife terms her feeling about sitting beside the Lone Pine Creek waterfall at the Mt. Whitney Portal.

Unfortunately, it just wasn't happening for Bri. She always had fun but never seemed to have that WOW moment about where she was.

A couple of days later we had made a long, arduous drive from Seattle, around Puget Sound, to Olympic National Park on the opposite peninsula. We had just finished hiking an abbreviated section of the Hurricane Ridge trail and were mostly cooling our heels and just hanging out. This is the time when Bri was happiest in a hike - just a great opportunity for her to chatter non-stop about whatever stray thoughts were bubbling up in her young mind. Directly across from us was the Olympic Range, a jumbled mass of some of the most jagged, Alp-like peaks in the lower 48, all snow-capped and looking incredibly scary. Although they were miles away, it seemed you could almost reach out and touch them.

Bri kind of ran down on whatever subject she was pontificating on, and wandered away to explore. Barb and I were talking about what a major pain in the ass the return trip would be to Seattle, and discussing the option of taking a car ferry across Puget Sound, when I noticed Bri just standing quietly, looking at the Olympics. We, of course, were fascinated by them, but Bri had seen and experienced countless eye-popping wonders over the past five years and none of them seemed to register with her. We certainly didn't expect the Olympics to attract her attention, especially after she had kicked Rainier to the curb a couple of days prior. I really wasn't thinking much of it when I saw her fish her little camera out of her fanny pack. She had had the camera for a couple of trips, and used it almost exclusively to take pictures of mom, dad, bugs, birds, rocks, cars, people, meals, and quite often the TV in our motel rooms. This time, however, instead of pointing that camera downward in micro mode for some damn caterpillar pic, she began taking shots of the Olympics. Slowly. Steadily. Deliberately.

It hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks: finally, finally, she was Getting It! I urgently jabbed Barb in the ribs and whispered, "Look, look! She Gets It! She Gets It!" We looked at each other dumbfounded, then I realized this was one of those Big Moments in our child's life (at least to us), and I needed to get a photo. I frantically searched for our camera, not remembering whose pack it was in, but finally found it and began to take shots of Bri taking shots of the Olympic Mountains. I damn near cried, it was so rewarding. After so much effort, time, miles and $$$ on our part, our child's soul was finally being touched by nature. Not a video game, or a TV show, or a toy, or some friggin' fast-food joint - but the majestic, enriching power of nature. I'll always remember Bri's birth, her first steps, the first time she said "Daddy" - these are all cemented permanently in my memory in surround-sound HD (my first impulse was to say Stereoscopic Technicolor, but that would date me). This moment, to me, was one of those unforgettable life events on the same scale.

After a few moments she wandered back to us, flashing that smile that always melted my heart. "Those are some really pretty mountains, Daddy", she said enthusiastically.

Yes, baby girl. Yes they are!