Friday morning we awoke to another hot, dry day. We were anxious to get out of Salt Lake City because this was Pioneer Day, a HUGE state holiday with a 5,000 float parade. Since we were staying downtown we feared that if we weren’t out before eight we might just be the 5,001st float. The kids were up late so we expected them to sleep in for a while. Unfortunately, we left the awnings out overnight and when we retracted them they slapped against the RV with an enormous boom. The girls were up and it was only 7:00. By 7:30 we were pulling out of the RV park. In our push to get out of dodge, I was not fulfilling my duties as co-pilot. I got sloppy.
We expected an interstate on-ramp before reaching Temple Square. When Brent realized that there was only an exit ramp and that we were heading into the heart of SLC on Pioneer Day, he released a flurry of expletives. In my haste to help him find the interstate before we became anachronistic cross-country-traveling pioneer re-enactors I left a steeping French press and a coffee mug on the kitchen counter. As the coach swung a hard left to reach the interstate on-ramp, the press and the mug slid off the counter and hit the kitchen floor with that hideous noise of exploding glass. Coffee and wet grinds were splattered from floor to ceiling. The walls, windows, and floors were now a corded off hazard that the already confined twin terrors were forbidden to cross. They stood on the couches and howled like monkeys at Mommy’s mess while Brent released more expletives, Megan got the cleaning supplies, and I fought back tears. This was the first moment of the Big, Big Trip that I felt truly overwhelmed.
As Megan and I cleaned up the mess, Brent fumed and the kikis continued to ask questions about why mommy was so silly. Did I know there was coffee on the blinds? Meanwhile, I was lamenting with a deep and utter sadness the fact that when the press fell I had not yet had my first cup of coffee. I was REALLY longing for that coffee. I begged Brent to stop at a grocery store ASAP, preferably a well-stocked on that might have a French press on the kitchen supply aisle. I was sure that I would be in luck when we saw that the next town over on the interstate was Park City. Park City hosted many Olympic events only 6 years ago. Surely I could find a French press in that kind of town.
We exited and headed for the local shopping center. Oops. Park City was apparently built for small cars only. The only store we could access in the rig was a Wal-Mart. I was still not yet distressed. It’s a ski town….an expensive one. They must have a decent Wal-Mart. Walking inside, my heart sunk. It looked like Lewisburg’s old Wal-Mart, the one we had after TG&Y and before the new Super Wal-Mart. This was the forgotten Wal-Mart. It still sported the old colors of brown, tan, and more brown before they upgraded to blue and yellow. I knew I wasn’t going to find a French press here. I walked dejectedly to the coffee pot aisle. I really didn’t want a coffee pot in the RV. They take too long. I pictured myself standing in the kitchen aisle hanging on to the coffee pot while it brewed only half of the coffee into the pot while the rest splashed and ran onto the floor. Reluctantly, I bought a very small one anyway. It was the $15 Mr. Coffee like the ones in hotel rooms. The whole thing was a rush job because Brent was idling on low fuel and had warned me that I better be quick. We needed gas in a hurry.
We drove across the street to the miniature Chevron and worked hard to find a way into the parking lot. Once in, we received another shock. NO DIESEL! Ironic, I know. It’s the MOUNTAINS! Doesn’t everyone in the mountains drive as diesel? Where do the weekend skiers fill up the Mercedes? We gave up and jumped back on the interstate to look for fuel.
A couple of miles later we found a Sinclair with diesel. Brent pulled up to the pump and I ran into the station to buy a cup of coffee before setting up my new pot. When I got back to the RV I took my first sip of the gas station coffee and nearly gagged. I am not such a connoisseur of coffee that I can’t drink the 7 Eleven variety of the stuff. On the Run markets tend to brew a fantastic morning coffee. This cup, however, was horrible! It tasted like the teenagers loitering near the coffee inside had salted it as a prank. I almost cried. Brent hopped back in the coach and fired her up. He pulled quickly away from the station slinging my computer onto the floor. EXPLETIVE! In HIS haste, the well wasn’t closed to the stairs and the Mac took a serious tumble down the stairs breaking the Verizon air card that had until now allowed me to access the internet while in motion. Knowing Brent was close to his boiling point, I rushed up from the kitchen where I was attempting to make coffee to grab the computer and pretend everything was ok before he lost it. In the meantime, he made the turn for the interstate and my second carafe shattered on the floor. I had broken TWO coffee pots in thirty minutes and I still hadn’t finished a cup of coffee. I was so upset that I couldn’t even cry. I demanded an end to the Big, Big Trip.
I sulked up to my chair after vacuuming up a second crime scene and began drinking the now lukewarm salt coffee. What could I do? I had to have coffee no matter how horrible. After about thirty minutes of driving, I spied perhaps the loveliest sight my eyes have seen on this trip. A beacon of hope rose up ahead in the form of a bright green Starbucks mermaid. Her siren call was luring me there and I’ll be damned if I was going to ignore her. I pleaded with Brent to stop and he obliged knowing that an Egg McMuffin was also in play. It was possibly the best quad venti non-fat latte of my life. Humbly, I purchased another French press and walked back to the RV.
Refreshed, we were finally ready for the long drive to Denver. Due to the weight of the RV we decided to take the less scenic route, I-80, into Colorado rather than attempting the mountain passes through the Rockies on I-70. Originally disappointed that we would miss the Rockies, we tried to make the best of Southern Wyoming instead. The route took us through some very interesting if less than awe-inspiring landscapes. This part of Wyoming consists of high plains, the winter home of the indigenous wildlife. While stopped at a rest area, we did a little reading and discovered some interesting facts about this part of the West. The wind is wild here with frequent gusts of around 70 miles per hour. It makes the drive difficult and challenging, but as we learned at the rest area, “The wind is a friend.” In Winter, the higher elevations of the cool Summer grazing lands become buried in snow. Without tree cover or food to eat, the local species would starve. The wind whips across these high plains blowing the snow elsewhere and exposes food for the elk, moose, etc. to eat in the frigid winter months. Who knew?
All along the highway, energy companies were also taking advantage of this wind corridor. Hundreds of windmills stood sentry on the horizon like a giant alien army. It was almost unsettling and certainly Orwellian. In Oregon, the gleaming white sentinels represented a new way of thinking and a positive change in our energy production methods. In Wyoming, their presence was just too out of sync with the sweeping vistas around us. There seemed to be no people here. Without supervision, the windmills were just creepy.
Coming into Denver for the first time since 2005, I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Our surrogate delivered Abby and Ella at Rose Memorial Hospital in downtown Denver and we haven’t been back there since our Amtrak train left the Denver terminal. We have since seen our surrogate a handful of times but seeing the city itself was a tangible reminder of the incredible number of people between here, Nashville, California, and Maryland who worked together to make the twins possible. I told the twins repeatedly as we passed through that they were born here, but it didn’t mean much to them. They just wondered why mommy had tears in her eyes.
We had planned to stop long enough to have dinner with Jodi’s family before heading back to the campground for some sleep before taking off on our southerly course. When I told Jodi that we would only be able to have one meal together, she was so disappointed that we just had to change our plans.
When we couldn’t find a campsite in Denver, we had to punt and stay in nearby Colorado Springs. I was worried about all the driving that she would have to do to take us back and forth to Colorado Springs, an hour away, but Jodi was undaunted. We parked in a Safeway parking lot long enough to meet her family and have dinner in Castle Rock before driving the RV on to Colorado Springs that night. We had a lovely bbq in the backyard of Jodi’s parents house and spent a couple of hours with members of her extended family. The girls and Aidan were spoiled by gifts and attention while Brent and I feasted on some wonderful pork ribs.
The next morning, Saturday, Jodi and family drove to Colorado Springs to spend the day with us. They took us to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo high in the hills surrounding the city. The kids had a fantastic time riding the lift to the top of the “mountain” where the views of Colorado Spring down below were spectacular. I, however, didn’t enjoy this part as much as they did. My fear of heights had me white knuckling the twins in my lap while my heart beat out of my chest. We all survived and when we reached the end of the ride we headed for the face painting cabin.
While Ella was having delicate little ears and whiskers drawn on her forehead and cheeks, Abby was busy requesting that the artist make her a “brown doggy.” I was mortified when the painter began covering her face in dark brown paint. She didn’t look like a puppy; she looked like Al Joelson. I couldn’t wait for the opportunity to wash it off.
After the zoo, we left Colorado Springs for Parker to attend Connor’s basketball game and have a dinner together. We had a wonderful visit with Abby and Ella’s surrogate family and then it was back to the KOA in Colorado Springs. When we got back to the KOA, I opened the refrigerator and a shelf holding the beer fell off the door breaking two bottles and splattering beer all over the kitchen. Are you kidding me? I got out the vacuum for the third time of the day. Unbelievable. Side Note: Colorado Springs KOA is not OK.
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