Coeur d'Alene and Aunt Prickley

After missing the turn for Camp Jellystone and having to travel about 5 miles out of the way to find a site big enough to turn around, we finally arrived at Camp Jellystone, Missoula, MT. The campground was isolated from the city located on the Going-to-the Sun Highway. We would have loved to spend some time in Glacier National Park, but the motorhome is too large for many of the mountain passes. We decided just to hang at the campsite. As we pulled up, the check-in area was directly next to the swimming pool. Trying desperately to divert the kids’ attention from what was sure to be a miserably cold pool, they noticed. The whining for a swim began immediately. Megan and I decided that tonight just wasn’t a night for fighting. We agreed to the polar bear swim and got the kids dressed for the pool while Brent set up camp. I stuck some potatoes in the oven and we took off. Meg and I entered the pool area with the smug looks on our faces that say, “Just you wait. We told you so.” This time Megan and I were the ones who were mistaken. The pool, although a bit old-fashioned, was warm and clean. The sun was still pretty high in the sky even as the evening hours approached. Although I have spent plenty of time at this latitude, it’s a surprise every summer when the sun doesn’t set at 8:00 p.m.

After about an hour, we were able to coax the kids out of the pool with promises of hot dogs and chips. We headed back to the RV, hung our wet towels and suits out to dry, and fed the girls some dinner.  Around 8, we put the girls in the back bedroom and turned on Sleeping Beauty hoping that it could calm some seriously stimulated 3-year-olds. Finally, Disney worked its magic and the girls were quiet. While Brent taught Aidan how to bunt, Megan and I got dinner ready. Tonight, I decided that in celebration of Montana, we should have a steak. After dinner, the four of us played some yahtzee on the picnic table beside the RV. The sun was beginning to cast long shadows across the nearby hills, but the latern was still not necessary. At 10, Aidan asked for bed. We tucked him in and headed back outside to enjoy the last few minutes of the sunset.

 Inspired by the scenery, we put on some country music and poured a glass of wine.  I found that even after my second glass of wine I still don’t like nouveau country music. I tried. I really did. Taylor Swift, Kenny Chesney, and the like still make my skin crawl. We did find a compromise with Lyle Lovett, Old Crow Medicine Show, and Sara Evans. It was Montana. We had to work to find the right music.

 We decided over night, that we really want to be in Coeur d’Alene for the 4^th of July. The idea of fireworks over the lake was just too tempting. Instead of spending the night at a campground, we will dry camp on A Street in front of Sara’s house and hope that neither the neighbors nor the fire department protests. 

We left Missoula on I-90 heading West. The drive from Missoula to Idaho is breathtaking. Shocked to see bicycles riding along beside us even on the steep mountain grades, I couldn't help but take some pictures of these thrill-seekers. The Bitterroot River and it’s tributaries run alongside the interstate for much of the trip. Everywhere we looked, there were people fly-fishing and rafting and swimming. The water was crystal clear and you could see straight to the bottom even from the road. We all thought long and hard about just finding a place to pull over and take a little dip. 

 Somewhere near the border, we passed into the Pacific Time Zone. It occurred to me then as it has several times now on this trip that we are really far from home. We have now traversed two different time zones on this road trip.

 We arrived in Coeur d’Alene just after lunch. We parked on A Street (that’s “A” Street, not a street) in front of Ripley’s house and shamelessly opened the slides right in front of the neighbor’s house. Good thing the home was now empty, the neighbors moving out only a few days before. The kids all put on their swimsuits and we took off with Sara as our guide down to the “beach.” Having been there once before, I knew what to expect on a normal day. What I was unprepared for was the heat and the crowds. It was HOT, HOT, HOT, but we managed to walk the mile from Ripley’s house to the lake. The crowds were a bit overwhelming  Once the kids got there, it took them mere seconds to come out of their cover-ups and shoes and charge the lake. The crowds were enormous down by the water, but we managed to keep up with all three of them. Aidan completely monopolized Ripley and took her off for a swim in deeper waters. The girls ran screaming in and out of the water happy to be out of the RV and free to run.

 After about a half an hour of playing with Aidan, Ripley suggested that we leave the others and have a beer at the beachside pub. It was great to sneak away from the kids for a few minutes after so much togetherness and catch up with an old friend. We talked about our friends from college and wondered how it is possible that we are now in our mid-thirties and that she lives in IDAHO. Although it has been four years since we last saw each other, we laughed and talked like we had never been apart. A few minutes later, the kids, Brent, and Megan caught up with us and it was time to head back to the house to get ready for the bbq.

 When we got back to the house, Sara pointed out the trees in the yard of the empty house next door. They were absolutely heavy with ripe, beautiful cherries. My kids went wild! Aidan climbed the tree and picked the fruit still warm from the sun and ate them while still in the tree. Abby and Ella begged us to pick them more and more and more. With cherry juice smeared across their faces like tribal war paint, I thought about my grandfather and how much he would have loved to see the kids gorging themselves on one of his favorite fruits.

 We moved around to the back of the house past the Roberts Toyota Forerunner parked in Rip’s driveway. Aidan was so excited to see a Roberts car with an Idaho plate. Out back, Ripley had filled a laundry hamper with costume jewelry, funny shoes, and wigs. The kids entertained themselves with those for quite a few minutes, long enough for mom and dad and Megan to have a little break.

 As the sun began to set, we contemplated a walk back to the mecca of Idaho, Coeur d’Alene Lake, but decided that the kids were probably just too tired. Just as I was beginning to feel guilty about putting them to bed before the 10:00 fireworks, the neighbors began their own fireworks show. “Yes, kids,” I said, “those are the fireworks we’ve been waiting for all this time. Cool, huh?” Satisfied with the neighbors’ display, we put the kids to bed for the night while Ripley, Megan, and I climbed on top of the RV for a better view of the “real” fireworks. Unfortunately, we could only see the colored halos around the trees on her block created by what must have been a great show down by the water.

 The kids woke us at 7:30 this morning and demanded a little more time with “Prickley” and her cat, “Kitty.” Ripley, now forever known as “Aunt Prickley,” invited us to join her for a big, greasy breakfast at a local restaurant before we head off to Bellingham. With the promise of blueberry pancakes, we gladly accepted. After waiting for half an hour for a table, the McLay kids were beginning to get a little squirrely. This was our first restaurant meal on this road trip and I remembered why we planned it that way. Aidan and the girls fought over Aunt Prickley as each wanted to sit next to her. “Look at this, Prickley…. Over here, Prickley…Play paper-rock-scissors, Prickley.” It’s a good thing we had time to catch up the day before because my kids were not sharing. After a breakfast of Eggs Benedict, blueberry pancakes, eggs, and bacon, the kids were exhausted. Ella demanded that she be allowed to stay and clear the table. For a moment I was proud that I must have taught her well. One must clear one’s plate after eating… UNTIL, she lost it. Right there in the restaurant she started yelling and screaming to have her napkin back. She needed to clean the chair. Megan scooped her up and ran for the door but not before enduring a few hateful, “Why did they bring all those kids into this restaurant?” looks. Painful as that was, it only got worse as each kid begged to be picked up as well. “Aunt Prickley” took it all in stride as the McLay family rained chaos on her Sunday morning breakfast.

 We pushed, pulled, and dragged the kids back to the RV. It was time to move on. As I hugged Ripley good-bye I made sure to remind her that the night before she had accepted an invitation to ride with us to Seattle. Did she still want to go?