* With Kids     **and the Flagrant Improper Use of Apostrophes

Las Vegas has quite a reputation, one that varies as much as the individuals who add to it with their own impressions of what may or may not have happened in the original Sin City.  Those who do visit will neither confirm nor deny what happens there because that goes against the city’s (relatively) recently established mores.  Since its inception, Las Vegas has been made no less notorious because most of its morphing reputation, however outlandishly you define it, is at least partially true.

Permit me a little history of The Meadows…  Once Salt Lake City and Los Angeles were connected by railroad, Las Vegas evolved from a respectable watering hole into a solid Mormon farming community before it took a moral nosedive.  Advertising to all the puddlers, muckers, and nippers building Hoover the Dam, the city’s local business owners partnered with a few Mafia crime bosses to provide the construction workers places to puddle, muck, and nip off the clock in such fine establishments as initially illegal casinos and disreputable showgirl theaters. Once the hydroelectric monstrosity was complete, tourists seeking recreation on newly created Lake Mead replaced the more ribald clientele and the first upscale hotels broke ground.  Only decades later, in the heyday of the Rat Pack, Las Vegas shared a fallout radius (!!!) with government nuclear warhead testing sites until majorly upping the ante to become its glitzy contemporary self.  Seriously, what other town could get away with offering Atomic Cocktails to sip while watching rising mushroom clouds from nearby nuclear blasts?  (These explosions are best described here by Stephen Colbert)

My last two visits to Vegas were without kids (WOO HOO!).  The first of these excursions was BC (before children) with a group of girlfriends with whom I went to college and was more in line with what I might associate with time on the Strip, to include time at a spa, followed by a Varsity Pub Crawl and then dancing the night away.  My most recent Vegas escapade was with Flight as we celebrated our 6^thAnniversary, complete with a helicopter flight into the Grand Canyon for a champagne snack, a Cirque de Soleil show, and plenty of great meals.

Neither trip afforded an appropriate template for kid-friendly activities and I had no idea of what to do there as a family now that nuclear blast observations are no longer an option.

In fact, I was rather befuddled by images I had conjured on what Keeper’s puritan reaction would be to seeing men handing out pictures of mostly naked women on baseball cards, first snapping them against their hands to call attention to their wares before pushing them on the sometimes unsuspecting public.  Not to mention his environmentally conscious self observing the two-block radius from card distribution ground zero that is littered with these images failing to capture a would-be mark’s attention.  Come to think of it, I’m not sure I want my children anywhere near The Strip, certainly not before they reach 21, and probably not even then.

Fortunately, I did not have to rely on my own devices.  Google offered up some excellent recommendations on G-rated activities for our clan to check out. Flight also got some great information from a fellow pilot who lives in the area and I from our cousins who recently moved from Sin City.  Surprisingly, there are plenty of things to do for those uninterested in drinking and gambling.  Who knew?! CNN put together a pretty good list well after our visit and I was glad to see that we saw most of their Top 15 suggestions.  Vegas was hosting the Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon on our window of opportunity, which maybe helped to offset the standard menu of debauchery.

After a morning of laying low and soaking in the amenities offered at our swanky RV resort (showers and laundry for all my friends!), we made a general scaffold for our night’s entertainment and trundled into town to enjoy a modified evening on the Strip.  The first hurdle was to find parking, made especially challenging by the redirection of traffic due to the marathon.  No kidding, we entered a parking garage through labyrinthian passages typically reserved for employees.  Or maybe Mafia contract killers.  No kidding, it was not until we popped out in a more official-looking casino parking garage that I thought our night on the Strip might not be going horribly wrong after all.

Shaking off that odd (although maybe perfectly Vegas) introduction to our evening, we got moving and steps into our stroll, we wandered into the Wynn to see their latest floral display.

I’m still not quite quite sure what the theme was, maybe Peacocks Meet the Hobbit in Autumn, but all I could think was “’Curiouser and Curiouser’ said Alice.”  I suppose that’s par for the course for Vegas where over-the-top is the norm.

Not to be outdone by the Wynn, we meandered through the Forum Shops at Caesars Palace (shouldn’t there by an apostrophe in there somewhere?) and paused for a photo op in front of the knock off Trevi Fountain.

Flight and I concur that we prefer the original in Roma, but it’s not bad for a copy in a relatively newly populated desert.  We then bolted through the casino to get to the other side.  Despite our moving at a fast clip, Firebolt especially was captivated by the whirring and flashing lights associated with the ding-ding-ding of the slot machines and had to be led by hand to keep up. Yikes.  That’s all I have to say about that…

Although we didn’t make it all the way down to the Bellagio to see the water fountains dancing, we did catch this more modest display before we went into the Grand Canal Shops on our way to the Venetian.

The highlight for our kids was IT’SUGAR (again with a jacked up apostrophe – Vegas, what gives?!).

Don’t let their expressions fool you, our kids wanted to drop a load of cash in that store.  There were plenty of unusual treats to catch one’s attention, good or bad.

However, as we hadn’t played Craps, Blackjack, or even hit the slots successfully or otherwise, we told the kids they had to rely on their own funds, which maybe that explains their above dour faces.

Around the corner we found a chocolatier, ROYCE’ (sic).  While the confections were divine (after sampling, we bought some to take with us), I still don’t get what the superfluous apostrophe is all about. It’s true, I do own this t-shirt:

Our rumbling bellies determined our next course of action and we found ourselves down the Linq Promenade in search of dinner.  As soon as the kids saw “Pizza” on the menu at Barley and Flour, they proclaimed being near starvation and intended to move no farther.  Fortunately, that restaurant was a good call and we were entertained by the Promenade’s light and music show while we awaited our order.  After refueling we headed back the other direction in search of the Subaru.

Satisfied we had checked all the necessary boxes of appropriately seeing the Strip with kids and fresh with watching the first marathoners cross the finish line, Flight and I mused about running a race together.  I surprised both of us when I was the one who suggested the crazy notion.  I haven’t run a race since completing the Marine Corps Marathon in 1992 and Flight’s most recent was the Vancouver Half-Marathon in 2008. Even as the tentative words were emerging from my mouth, my body screamed at me to stop the nonsense.  Or maybe that response was owed to the cupcake sampling at Sprinkles after our solid dose of flour and barley at dinner. Either way, it looks like we’re thinking about possibly training for a race (see how noncommittal I made that sound), almost certainly a short one at that, but who knows…

And yet I keep coming back to the understanding that what crazy notions spring forth in Vegas should probably stay in Vegas…

Veterans Day always resurrects an interesting mix of emotions in me, which is pretty much par for my staying (sort of) the Navy course.  Upon watching me struggle with getting off of active duty for maybe the third time, Flight observed to me, “You really have this weird love/hate relationship with the Navy,” with the implication that I probably should devote some time to getting to the bottom of whatever that is and put it to rest.  I have since gone through that emotional turmoil again to earn my fourth DD-214 (proof of active duty service) and haven’t yet made the opportunity to deconstruct that relationship, but until further exploring in a future post….

On the tip of the iceberg, I am very thankful to have served my nation (and still do wear the cloth of the nation, but only part time as a Reservist), yet I know that my Navy career has not been riddled with the challenges of many of my fellow active duty service members.  Although I am honored when people thank me for my service, I’m also a little embarrassed because I know their thanks come with an assumption of the many sacrifices that come with serving, and, as I have had such a great ride and (mostly) on my own terms, I haven’t really experienced many of those assumed challenges, which means it feels vaguely disingenuous to graciously accept such words of appreciation.  So wow, if that’s just the tip of the iceberg, Flight’s dead on (as per norm) and I’ve got some processing to do.  Sigh…

I guess it was fitting that on Veteran’s Day we were in the Valley of Fire State Park.  All the yin and yang of earth and fire gently sculpted into outcroppings as if to showcase their beautiful juxtaposition:

I have come to see my last active duty tour teaching at the Naval Academy as the epitome of a balanced, yet nearly bipolar, yin-yang existence.  You can’t get much more yang than teaching tomorrow’s warfighters the engineering behind modern weapons, all while serving them as a healer and so manifesting yin. What an incredible chapter that was, but back to the journey at hand…

As repellant as Joshua Tree appeared to find me, the red rocks within the Valley of Fire instead called to me as though I was coming home.  I was graciously invited to stretch my limbs and explore the valley’s chromatically striated nooks and crannies and, maaaaaaan, was I very happy to be welcomed among my rocks.

Because our timeline was anchored by when we could collect Flight at the airport, we made it to the Valley of Fire Visitor’s Center mid-afternoon, which turned out to provide the landscape perfect lighting for our exploration.  We spent about half an hour in the modest Visitor’s Center to learn a little of the transformation of the native nomadic peoples who settled into the first agrarian societies, thus curbing their wandering for at least for part of the year.  As their dependence on crop-tending grew, the Anasazi, as they have come to be known, relocated from low-lying caves to shelters offered by the higher rock outcroppings.  Aside from the crops they grew, the native population relied on the big horn sheep, and we were fortunate to see some of their offspring, a few generations removed:

Our trek started by skirting some varsity-sized rocks.

The hike was pretty easy going and maybe half a mile from the trailhead brought us to these glorious sights:

Although I was happy with how the rocks framed themselves in the above images (kind of them to line up so, no?), my favorite picture from that day was the one Flight took of WoodSprite skipping atop the formations looking not unlike Kokopelli dancing.

Regardless of where we find ourselves that child has the gift of a chameleon and subtly shifts to embody the energy of the local environment.

We made our way back to the Subaru and the monkeys posed for a picture with a sizable specimen of their favorite cactus.

As the afternoon waned into nightfall, we were favored with a beautiful sunset before we returned from the Valley of Fire to the energetic chaos that is Las Vegas.

After an afternoon spent among my rocks, my soul was in a much better space to resist the city’s relentless onslaught, although, frankly, no better prepared to dig into the 27+ years of my relationship with the Navy.  Fortunately (and I am observing my reluctance to do so as I type this) that process will have to go to the back burner as we’re going for full immersion tomorrow in Las Vegas’ tireless throng, which means I’ll need all my strength to withstand the energetically tumultuous Strip.

At last I saw a Joshua Tree – on our transit through the high desert to Sin City.

Upon our arrival at the Las Vegas Motorcoach Resort, it felt as though we were let in on a little secret. Or that we got to peek behind the RV first class curtain. As Flight described, this particular RV resort boasted hundreds of campsites that were built up with variations of permanent outdoor kitchens and/or cabanas/bars, mostly catering to overwintering snowbirds. Our site was one without any of the additional trappings, but a strangely lush and most welcome change (for me) from the haunting and subtly vituperative silence of Joshua Tree.

Somehow as I was saying grace before our first dinner in our fancy new digs, giving thanks for our blessings and asking God to watch over both Flight as he travelled and came home safely to us and the remainder of our clan as we explored locally, I lamely finished by blurting out “as we head to Hoover the Dam tomorrow.” There was a collective pause as we each silently questioned my never-before-heard turn of phrase and then choked out a borderline irreverent “Amen” before rather unceremoniously dissolving into giggles. Flight assures me he and Keeper only chuckled.

Hoover the Dam? Where on Earth did that come from? Hoover THE Dam – who even says that?! No idea, but I guess I do. And I would say I’m by myself, but my entire family has now adopted the new title of this behemoth structure. I think it may catch on…

I called to check in with my parents to let them know we’d relocated to Vegas and I mentioned the kids and I would be checking out Hoover the Dam the next day after we dropping Flight off at the airport for his next trip. My father reminded me of a project he had given his students while teaching architecture at the University of Utah. He tasked them with converting the unused space on the face of the dam into a hotel with killer views and easy access to Lake Mead above for watersport recreation.

Pretty interesting assignment. However, as I am trained as an engineer and not an architect, my awe at (read puzzled by) being required to come up with the appropriate allocation of space on/within such a beastly structure stayed with me and steadily grew throughout our visit.

I (and hopefully the kids) learned a ton, not just how the structure was built (and I’ll show just how deep my enginerdiness runs shortly) but what necessitated its development. The electricity provided by the proposed hydroelectric plant was certainly a draw, but management of the water flow was probably even more critical. Not having grown up in the Southwest US, I had only a basic intellectual understanding that water shortage was a constant concern for Arizona, Nevada, and Southern California. What I hadn’t realized was that it was more so the unpredictable flooding of the Colorado River that made agricultural endeavors in that region extremely challenging. The dam served to regulate and manage the river’s surging tendencies in addition to providing electricity. Win-win (except maybe for the last 80+ years of restructuring the downstream ecosystems…).

Before construction on the dam could even begin, four tunnels had to be cored out of the surrounding canyon rock walls to redirect the river while the massive structure was being built. Once the river was diverted, the critical foundation had to be laid. All the squishy mud and silt at the river’s bottom had to be removed all the way down to bedrock, located up to 40’ below the muck’s surface. !!!

Now this is what gets me… The dam had to be poured in concrete bricks, with each one using pipes of river water running through it, supplemented by an on-site refrigeration unit, to cool it safely through its curing process (concrete releases heat while it cures). If they had poured the whole dam at once, the concrete would still be curing through 2070 or so. By using these bricks, the concrete (enough to pave a two-lane highway from NYC to San Francisco – !!!) could be safely in place and cured in just under two years. This gargantuan structure required the skill sets of many able-bodied men (and it was all men) and they were paid quite handsomely for their efforts:

You would have to pay me a heck of a lot more than 70¢ an hour to be a high scaler…

Um, no.  No, thank you.

Check out the aerial cableway in the background of this photo:

This network of cables (actually it was ten interwoven cable networks) was required to move equipment and materials across the chasm during construction. The largest of these cables (3.5” in diameter) was capable of supporting up to 150 tons (or, um, 19 school buses – !!!). These were used to lift supplies at 120 ft/s and zip them to where they needed to be at twice that fast. I’m not making this up, it said so on a posted placard.

We opted to forego the additional tour of the plant spaces deep in the bowels of the structure. Truthfully, I have not gained significantly more interest in Electrical Engineering since I performed very poorly in those classes in college, but I was happy the museum spelled out the workings of the hydroelectric plants housed in the dam’s structure so that even I was the kids were able to break it down to: higher water above moves lower and the controlled flow of water turns a turbine whose shaft is connected to a rotor whose magnets spin by surrounding wires to generate electricity. And, if you do that on a large enough scale, you can energize all of Nevada, Arizona, and Southern California.

Duuuuude. That’s all I have to say about that.

Beyond the engineering feat of safely constructing the dam and the follow on magic of generating electricity, I was impressed by how the people-aspect of the project was managed. By contract, 80% of the workers were promised nearby housing, so “Boulder City” (a town of 5000 workers and their families) was developed out of the unforgiving desert. At the height of construction, Boulder City was the most populous town in Nevada at 7000 peeps and boasted churches, schools, and recreation facilities – WHOA!

Okay, okay, the last nerdly tidbit I found fascinating was that regardless of their size, dams are rated based on their “head,” or the height difference between the forebay (the reservoir above) and the tailrace (the river emerging below the dam) and that Hoover the Dam is only a medium head dam. That’s it.  Great googlie mooglie!

Overall, we had an awesome field trip to get our STEM on. A bonus was that Flight’s trip would be bringing him right back to layover in Vegas, which meant we could plan our next local exploration to include him before he needs to crew rest (nap) to fly the redeye back to Boston tomorrow night. After we collect him, we’ll check out The Valley of Fire…

Probably my favorite gear is that put out by “Life is Good.” I have likely referenced my standard summer uniform several times, namely that of Tranquility skort ($9.99 each at CosctoCo – WOO HOO!) paired with a Life is Good t-shirt and flip flops or hiking shoes, depending on the day’s activities. One of my favorite Life is Good hats is shown below and mine was worn to being unpresentable.

This witty, outdoorsy “Get Out” is not at all the one to which I am referring.

If I could boil my Joshua Tree experience down to two words, it would be “otherworldly” and “unsettling.” The former descriptor is hardly a new assessment of the random boulder formations creeping out of the dry desert floor. I’m typically one who likes to scope out and perfectly frame any images I can capture, but I was so blown away by my initial impressions, I started shooting from a moving Davista before we even got to our campsite. I’ll do my best to capture the unsettling aspect in what follows.

After attempting to check in with the Ranger Station (a stickie note advised of their impending return), we moved on to snug into our Indian Cove site where we were surrounded by what looked to be haphazardly strewn smooth boulders. Instead these enormous drip-castle worthy rocks proved to be of ideal traction for bouldering, which, after a cursory set-up, Flight spearheaded with the kids. While they explored the immediately local rock formations, I was happy to just settle in and be present in our surroundings, so I claimed a camp chair and took off my shoes to soak in the energy.

And I couldn’t.

It was as though my skin was strangely insulated from earthing in Joshua Tree.  ???!?  For as much as I have traveled, there are some places where I have felt entirely at home (e.g. the Scottish Border Country) where others have rendered me mildly uninspired (apathetic even?). Furthermore, I know that this connection, or lack thereof, is entirely unique to the individual. For example, I know the Badlands wholly resonate with my cousin, whereas, even after taking my shoes off and standing solidly on the Earth there, I felt nothing, no movement in my being, not even a tremor. I find there’s something primal about our wiring that really ties us to some places and not so much others, but what is that really about?

Curious as to whether there is any scientific evidence that might demonstrate the why behind our being linked to specific places, I did a little research. I was intrigued to learn that there actually is a “wanderlust” gene that has been tied to feeling the restless urge to travel. Perhaps a cousin to R2D2, the DRD4-7R gene is only present in 20% of the population and linked to a need to move. It would appear that this gene has manifested strongly in both me and Flight (and hopefully our kids!). While I was delighted to learn that my biannual itch to relocate goes beyond being inculcated by the Navy’s demands to do so ever few years, I could find no scientific references to shed light on humanity’s connections to specific places.  I guess I’ll just continue to wonder as I wander…

A sense of belonging or no, never have I felt an outright, “This is not your place,” that is until I got to Joshua Tree. Hidden deep within the roots of the ubiquitous cholla and beavertail cacti seemed to pulse a low-frequency, uneasy buzz as if to say, “Leave. You are unwelcome here. Disperse. You do not belong here. Go away. Leave…” Fortunately, I didn’t hear the sentiment formed into the actual words, “Get out,” or I would have gladly listened and obeyed.  Nonetheless, Joshua Tree’s unvoiced repulsive chant was incredibly disconcerting.

And I was not the only one who heard its silence so speak.

While Flight found great solace in Joshua Tree’s quiet, Firebolt, WoodSprite and I all had wicked nightmares peppering our first night’s sleep in the Park. I awoke feeling edgy and not at all rested. However, since we were only going to be in Joshua Tree for two nights, we had to rally to make the most of our only full day in the National Park.

As the girls have become keen to earn as many Junior Ranges badges as they can on our travels, our first stop was at the Visitor’s Center where they collected their Junior Ranger books and we attended a Ranger-led talk about Search and Rescue (SAR). Since four of my five best ever P-3C flights involved SAR operations (you can read my post-mission summary of these events here), I was captivated by the Ranger’s discussion on how desert SAR is necessarily similar and different from similar evolutions in the water. Firebolt, our growing survivalist, was equally inspired by the talk.

A quick tour through the Visitor’s Center shed some light on the Park’s namesake.  In case you were wondering, Joshua Trees are not even trees – they are a type of yucca.

Nor are they found within the boundaries of the Joshua Tree National Park as the elevation is too low.  I have to say I felt a little bamboozled.  It reminded me of a stretch of the Oregon coastline that was similarly riddled with misnomers…

The Visitor’s Center also houses the history of the Park. Although given that the Marine Corps oasis (HA!), Twenty-Nine Palms, is just outside the park, I was still surprised to learn that the surrounding desert hosted more than one million service members as they trained for deployment to North Africa in WWII. Also a surprise was how much WWI gear has been found throughout the Park, meaning perhaps military training may have occasionally encroached upon the Park property. Apparently, the older gear served to outfit the WWII warfighters of the day for training purposes. We in the VP Navy fly a variant of the 1953 Lockheed Electra and are fond (proud?) of saying that we’re all about “Protecting Tomorrow With Yesterday.” Glad to see not much has changed…

In addition to learning about the varied history of the area (e.g. local mining was largely unsuccessful with only two of 300 mines proving to be profitable – !!!, military training operations in preparation first for North Africa deployments then to the Middle East decades later, Hollywood’s filming efforts necessitate the management of over 100 filming permits every year, etc), we became acquainted with the area’s cacti.

Check out the kind and unassuming Beavertail (notice there are no spines), survivalist’s desert BFF Barrel Cactus (great source of water!), versatile Prickly Pear (good for managing blood sugar levels, high cholesterol, and wayward felines), and vicious Jumping Cholla (whose barbed spines are extremely difficult to remove).

Armed with our new cacti knowledge, we headed out into the park for a hike or two. But first we had to stop to check on our stinky clutch. All seemed fine, but the Outback is not to be trusted…

Our first hike was a short amble from parking to “Skull Rock.”

The kids had a great time climbing all over the “skull” and insisted on taking pictures from every perch.

We moved on to another trail, this one a “nature trail” with placards explaining some of the geological and botanical finds we might see. Some days my vertigo can easily be overcome with the mindful placement of (and thus anchoring) my limbs. Other days, especially in the wake of a poor night’s sleep, even the most attentive grounding can’t keep my world from spinning, which means being atop great heights on rocks haphazardly strewn with deep crevices gaping beneath seems to be entirely unwise. As such, I was happy to keep a low profile and capture the experience in pixels.

Keeper especially took advantage of scaling every sizable rock he could find, but my favorite place on the hike was through a carved canyon where he struck an unusual pose.

This stroll through the canyon inspired a discussion about flash floods and how to best get to high ground should it start raining.  And, on that positive note, we rounded out our hike and headed back to camp for a grilled dinner.

That night there were fewer nightmares in Davista, but I still awoke eager to depart Joshua Tree (as requested) and, unbelievably, to seek refuge in Las Vegas.

We stopped by the Visitor’s Center on our way out to swear in the family’s newest (repeat) Junior Rangers before making our way to the original Sin City.

If I were to design an escape destination — not so much a Rupert Holmes thing, more of a place where you could go and it’s so different from everything that you’re used to, you’re compelled to turn inward and just pay attention… it would likely look very much like Joshua Tree.  It’s not so much quiet as it’s silent.  The scenery is otherworldly.  It’s warm and dry.  And the enormous piles of rocks are composed of a coarse gneiss that just begs you to climb them.

Here’s our short drive from LA.  The LA basin is fairly arid, so the scenery really doesn’t change too dramatically as you get into the desert proper, and only once you’re inside the National Park do you find yourself surrounded by these rock formations and suddenly wonder how it’s possible that you’ve driven to another planet.

I would imagine that most people even outside of California are familiar with the eponymous trees thanks to U2.  They’re actually a cousin to the yucca plant and grow in just about any western US high desert within a certain elevation band – the interwebs tell me 2000’ to 6000’, but in California you really don’t see them until above 3000’.  In fact they make a pretty reliable altimeter when you’re driving up a desert grade and suddenly notice them first dotting and then swarming the landscape.  Interestingly, the cover photo of The Joshua Tree was taken in Death Valley, and if you remember, has no Joshua Trees at all.  Most of Death Valley is very, very low.  Inside the album was where the photo of the band with the actual, or I should say an actual Joshua Tree lived, and they found that particular one along Highway 395 between Death Valley and the Sierras.  I read that it’s long since dead, but the spot where it used to stand is littered with memorabilia, much like Jim Morrison’s grave in Paris.

We pulled into our campsite and I believe Tacco’s first words were “uh, wow.”  But much more emphatic than that looks in print.  More like UHHHHHH — WOW!  Which was really the only appropriate response.  It’s not a place that inspires wordiness – it’s more of a “Shut up and look around.  Breathe.  Listen.  Now look around some more” type of place.

No hook ups, so we’d be relying on our generator for whatever electricity we needed/wanted, but one of my first thoughts was that I absolutely did not want to turn on a generator in this place.  It seemed sacrilegious.

After making quick work of setting up camp, the kids and I got straight to climbing; it would’ve been unthinkable not to.  Even Woodsprite couldn’t resist the pull of “ooh, let me just go a little higher,” and by the end of the afternoon we all sported patchworks of little scrapes and scratches on our arms and legs.  One of the first times I went rock climbing, my friend / youth group leader (the same one who had such a great experience with pulling his kids out of a year of school and got us thinking of doing it ourselves) informed me that they’re called “rock bites” the first time I drew a little blood.  I passed this tidbit onto the kiddos, and it seemed to take the edge off of any blood drawn, though the excitement and novelty of the climbing helped too.

Deciding on a proper supervision level was another challenge.  Clearly this was something the kids hadn’t done before, and it wouldn’t be at all difficult to maneuver into a situation that could lead to broken bones or worse.  Yet pushing their boundaries was something we wanted to encourage.  What’s a skinned knee when you can tell your friends you scaled a two hundred foot rock in the desert?  My first few climbs with the kids (particularly the girls) had me hawking them intently, but as they got more comfortable we eased off.

Our campground was a no internet / no cell phone coverage zone, which I’ve mentioned tends to add a bit of tension to the kids’ lives, particularly Keeper’s, but what he found on the second day was that if he climbed all the way to the top of the ridge behind our site, he could see all the way out to (and well past) the town of Twenty-Nine Palms, and was rewarded with two or three bars of 4G.  Needless to say he went climbing up there as much as he could after that.  We weren’t about to discourage rock climbing, especially in a place like this, but something about scaling a mountain to get a cellular signal and internet seemed off to me.

I found Joshua Tree to be a great place to think.  The silence is so total, it almost registers as loud background noise.  You perceive whatever tinnitus you’ve developed over the years as something bearing down on you, and only when it’s broken by the faint chirp of a bird two miles away or a kid pleading “but mommmm” inside a tent on the most distant corner of the campground do you realize how little sound there actually was previously.

Something Keeper said on our second morning got me meandering down a somewhat interesting mental path from my perch on the boulder-strewn ridgeline I’d climbed while the rest were going about their morning routines.  He asked when we were leaving Joshua Tree for Las Vegas tomorrow and I told him I wasn’t sure – whenever was comfortable.  He told me he preferred right now.

I had to suppress my immediate frustration and walk outside to avoid saying something.  This is a response I find I’ve had a good bit in the last few months – something about going through significant trouble to attempt to create meaningful experiences for your kids only to have them tell you essentially “this sucks.”  Of course as any parent will tell you, “this sucks” can change to “this is the best day of my life” within 15 minutes, and even if it doesn’t, any individual “this sucks” means exceedingly little in the grand scheme.

But I’ve been really affected by Joshua Tree – it’s getting into my soul in a way similar to how the Redwoods did, and I wanted my kids to open themselves to it too.  Realizing something, I paused and asked him whether it was about the lack of internet.  “Yes.”

Hm.

I’m digging through my memories for things I “couldn’t live without” in my childhood, things that I would viscerally miss while on camping trips.  TV would be the closest parallel, I suppose, but that wasn’t anywhere near what my kids feel about being off line today.  I’m trying to decide if it concerns me, and I think it does.

It might even fall somewhere on that spectrum of dependency that has addiction as an end point.  This is not something on which I can speak intelligently, as I’ve been fortunate not to have dealt with addiction significantly, either first or second hand.  But it is something I’ve devoted thought to, as I think just about anyone has things in their life that fall somewhere on that continuum, and I’m certainly no exception.  There are habits/routines I take comfort in – nothing that I physically couldn’t do without (though a morning without coffee turns into a grumpy, headachy afternoon pretty reliably), but certainly things that I don’t want to give up.  Are these dependencies?  Possibly.

What I’m starting to notice on this trip, likely as a by-product of it, is that we’re all clinging more tightly to our dependencies.  Something about the uncertainty and unfamiliarity of the lifestyle is leading us to crawl back toward familiarity and comfort.  There is no real home base to retreat to and reset, just constant motion.  I had hoped, during the “imagining the trip” phase, that it would take the opposite tack – that we would shake loose of pretty much everything habitual and try on some new stuff.  Early morning exercise.  Board games instead of screens.  Voracious reading.  New hairstyles.  Long solo bike rides.  Introducing ourselves to strangers.  Healthy smoothies for breakfast.

It might still go that direction of course, but not without effort.  It won’t “go there,” we’ll have to lead it there.  I was hoping to avoid the effort part.  Maybe that’s where my kids get it?

Tacco had an interesting response to Joshua Tree on her first day, and I wouldn’t dream of trying to flesh it out as it was deeply personal, and I’m sure she’ll cover it when she writes.  I can only say that it was negative – as if there was a negative energy around or something very bad happening.  Having experienced exactly the opposite vibe and wanting to bring her with me, I tried to suggest that maybe it was just “one of those bad days,” similar to my San Elijo – Mission Bay downs, and I was quickly (and rightfully) fired the “I KNOW you’re not attempting to tell me how I feel, right?…” warning shot and I went to go climb another rock.  Fortunately by the next day it had passed.

 

 

Keeper tried another “sleep out in the hammock” night, but the setup was significantly more challenging as we had no trees to tie to, so jury-rigged a system using webbing wrapped around rocks.  It worked, but he came in at 2AM-ish, having not gotten much sleep due to his side being pressed against a boulder.

We drove into the main area of the National Park the following morning, after a stop at the Ranger Station to pick up Junior Ranger materials and take in a lecture by one of the rangers about Search and Rescue.

Our hike was fairly short, but spectacular.  I’ll let the pictures do the talking here.  The kids absolutely loved it.

 

On our second and last night, all three kids decided they would like to sleep outside, though Keeper abandoned the hammock idea and attempted to set up a bug net-protected bivouac of sorts on a flat area in the rocks above our site. Evidently the thought of seeing all those stars overrode any concerns they had about critters or discomfort.  It turns out, however, that a concern about critters morphs into something entirely more pressing when it becomes an actual critter sighting, and in their cases, it can’t be overridden.  Just as they were heading toward their sleeping bags, I spotted a tarantula ambling around in the general area, looking for food and companionship likely.  I suppose I could’ve ignored him and hoped the kids didn’t notice, but a quick mental calculation led me to deem that option 1) cruel and 2) likely to lead to multiple knocks in the middle of the night from kids wanting back into their beds because they were cold/scared/uncomfortable/thirsty/etc.  So I shined the light on him with a “heeeey, check that out!”  Keeper, with his self-declared arachnophobia, had seen all he needed to, and made a beeline back to his bunk, accompanied by a quick but emphatic “NOPE!”  The girls followed a bit more hesitatingly, although they watched our tarantula friend do his thing with me, just out of curiosity.  Mostly he just walked around in a circle, then left.

It was a peaceful night.

Tomorrow we head up to Las Vegas and an RV park that’s pretty much the polar opposite of this campground.  I wish we could stay longer, but I have a trip to fly.  Joshua Tree has been intense, and provoked strong reactions in all of us.  I have a feeling it will age well in our memories.

Every year after a week packed with birthdays and Halloween, we tend to spool down and intentionally take a breather before the Holiday season is upon us in earnest. This year was no different and, after Flight’s departure for work on All Saints’ Day, we didn’t venture terribly far from Davista for a couple days. That’s not true, we ventured some 100 yards down the line of RVs to the on-site Laundromat (free!) and back again (several times!), where we saw this gorgeous Great Blue Heron. That was the extent of our exploration until we were sufficiently restored.

On the third day post-Halloween, after book-intensive school activities were complete, I thought we’d add on to our growing knowledge base in Naval History and planned a field trip to the USS IOWA (BB-61), the magnificent warship that is now parked in the Los Angeles Harbor.

Keeper, who has occasionally threatened an interest in becoming a weapons systems engineer, was the most eager (behind me, of course) to visit the Iowa. Although, upon arriving at the massive ship, we learned that the first Captain’s dog, Victory, deployed with the crew and served as their mascot. As we are currently jonesing for a dog (dogs?) of our own, the girls thought this was pretty cool and they, too, were eager to follow “Vicky’s” clues throughout the tour thus earning their own set of “Vicky’s dogtags.”

My interest in seeing this big gas ship (HA!) has conflicting roots. First of all, I recognize that I am shamefully ignorant of how my surface Navy brethren and sisteren live aboard these gigantic steel beasts. Furthermore, I know that my personal assessment of my general lack of knowledge of the Surface Navy enterprise has at least evolved from a fierce sense of pride (only aviators who fly aircraft too large to land on a carrier crow about this ignorance) to a (probably more appropriate) modicum of professional chagrin. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have walked my Navy career path any other way and I am very thankful that my few “deployments” were to live solo in a one-bedroom suite at various Air Force bases where we took off from and landed on long, straight, non-pitching and non-yawing runways. Yet still… When I learned that the USS IOWA still hosted midshipmen training through my commissioning year, a (very small) part of my 23-year commissioned self was a little wistful about the missed opportunity. And then moments later I thought about who I was as my 20-year old self and reaffirmed that sailing from Annapolis to Bermuda and back again was a much better fit for then MIDN 1/C Me.

And, somehow, I am still drawn to learn more about the Fleet (albeit truthfully only those ships of yesteryear). Maybe it’s due to a WWII vintage Navy plot line I have kicking around my transom, but more likely it’s because I now know that there’s no way I might find myself squirreled away in the bowels of one of them that I’m more inclined to venture out to gain some professional surface Navy knowledge. I guess that in knowing that my Navy days behind me far outnumber those ahead (and maybe it has something to do with our current “deployment” in this 32’ land-yacht) I can’t help but entertain a morbid curiosity about how my brothers and sisters aboard ships have managed truly deploying aboard those enormous metal cans. No matter how I try, I can’t fathom preparing beef stew for 2500.

It’s all I can manage to meal plan for our flight of 5 and only then with a heavy reliance on the InstantPot. So, maybe I’m making up for it by soaking in as much as I can now as the opportunities present themselves, getting my Surface Warfare Officer (SWO) – geek on, as it were. Papa, you should be proud.

Here are some of the fruits of my recent research labor. First, this battleship has traveled the globe many times over at least as many decades. The mighty Iowa’s keel was laid down in the New York Naval Shipyard on 27 June 1940 and she was launched 27 August 1942. A year later (to the day!), she was tasked with her first wartime patrol in the Atlantic and then headed to the Pacific theater in early 1944. I was surprised to learn that my own number of transitions on and off active duty is more than that of the mighty Iowa’s (but only just), yet knew that her decades of naval service far exceed mine. This blew me away though: her ship’s company was designed to number 1900, but swelled to 2800 in WWII. I’m guessing that’s why the enlisted berthing in 1944 sported stacked racks four deep. !!!

We made our way throughout the ship, first taking in the forward 16-inch guns. Holy cow are they ENORMOUS!

Each 16-inch gun required 6 – 110 lb sacks of propellant (“smokeless gunpowder”, a total misnomer as it is neither smokeless nor a powder) to launch a projectile a maximum range of 24 miles. Keep in mind these projectiles weighed anywhere from 1900 to 2700 lbs. !!!

The three-gun turrets could position and fire each gun individually (thus “three-gun” and not “triple”) and required a crew of 79 men to operate each. Great googlie mooglie! If you, too, want to get your SWO (Surface Warfare Officer) – geek on, you can watch this 1955 training video on firing these awesome tools of diplomacy.

Later in her career the Iowa and her three sister ships (only four were built in the class) received upgrades in their weaponry to include anti-ship Harpoons, Tomahawk land-attack missiles, and four Phalanx Close-in Weapons Systems (CIWS, acronym pronounced sea-wiz) that resemble R2D2, and are so nicknamed.

She also boasted twin-mount 5-inch guns that required only (!) 27 men to operate, not including those needed on lower decks for projectile handling. Check out Keeper checking out the Harpoons and the higher mounted CIWS.

I always learned the R2D2 units were kind of a last ditch effort for any inbound missiles or aircraft that made it in through the Fleet’s air defenses. I’m not sure how comfortably I would rely on these rebel droid look-alikes, but they sure look like fun to shoot.

We finished our tour as the museum was closing and (in my head) I requested permission to go ashore. Not unlike Exactly the same faint ship aroma I had picked up aboard the MIDWAY only a week ago hung closely in my nostrils as we made our way back to the Subaru.

We stopped for a few pics before I respectfully bade her majesty adieu and, eager to continue our land-based travels, shook off any longing that my days afloat counter was stuck anywhere other than zero.