Every summer, the Barkers take off for a week or two of no-technology-allowed vacation. We keep it pretty low-key because ultimately, it's about us, hanging out together. Also, we are cheap. And to be honest, spending hours on a plane to get to a resort in a far-off place, with little room for the kids to roam and tons of other people, is not necessarily my idea of a relaxing, family-oriented time.
Now, if that resort was in Fiji and offered pristine beaches and delicious cocktails and only adults were allowed...
Well, then it wouldn't be family vacation, I guess.
We don't like to worry about other people on family vacay. And that might include the next-door neighbors in a hotel room or friends who have come along or the waitress Hazel just spilled juice all over. Which is why we camp, make our own meals and generally make our own fun. Oh yeah. And you're not invited. Sorry. Barker fun is for Barkers only.
For the past several months, we have bemoaned the fact that there are so many things to do and so much to see here and summer is going to so fast and we will never see it all and and and...
So we decided to camp in our own backyard. Literally. We drove 40 minutes away and set up our tent in Gothic, at the base of Gothic Mountain.
On the way there, we stopped at the Mt. Crested Butte playground while Brian rode his bike from Gunnison to the top of Prospect.
Guido says hi from Mt. Crested Butte.
After Brian finished his ride, scarfed some lunch and we set up our tent, I took off for what I thought would be an "easy" ride: Gothic Road to Snodgrass Mountain, up and over Snodgrass, up Washington Gulch Road, up and over Trail 403 and right back to camp.
And it WAS pretty easy. For awhile.
And then it wasn't. I didn't bargain for the fact that Washington Gulch Road is ridiculous on a bike. It's a fine road, in good condition and little traffic on a Saturday afternoon. But for the love of god, why does it climb SO. DAMN. MUCH. And I don't know if I was feeling particularly tired or lame or what that day but I just wanted the road to end.
It didn't. You would think I would know better, having driven that road not even a week earlier.
All I have to say is, roads look a lot less steep in a car.
I finally made it to 403 and after the road, the uphill on 403 was a BREEZE. Like, almost a joke.
But then there's the downhill. Which made this girl (who's only been mountain biking since April) pucker. Steep, rutted and full of small rocks.
There might have been some walking involved. I will never say.
When I finally pulled in to camp, an hour later than my expected arrival time, the rain started. Like, really really STARTED. We are not idiots. We left camp faster than you can say, "Restaurant?" and booked it to Crested Butte where we enjoyed a dry evening in a restaurant with food we didn't cook while getting soaking wet.
Totally worth it.
Until it rained AAAAALLLLLLL night.
This has never happened to me in Colorado. The Northwest? Yes, many times. More than I care to remember. But Colorado? Never. I started to wonder if this was the End of Times. Because when we woke up in the morning, it was STILL pouring rain.
Luckily, our tent is amazingly water-proof. Luckily, our kids are laid-back sports who love camping, wet or dry and are bothered not at all by a little rain.
Luckily, I am not ashamed to bail and go to a coffee shop.
The rain continued ALL DAY LONG. Seriously, you guys. It was THE END OF DAYS. For Colorado, at least. It was weird. We get rainstorms here, yes, but they usually end quickly and then the sun comes back out and all is right with the world again.
SO WEIRD.
Thus began our day, which happened to be my 35th birthday and our 12th anniversary-did I mention that?-at the children's museum, the burrito place, the movie theater, the children's museum again, and the fancy dinner restaurant. Ultimately, Hazel had a super rad day on my birthday.
When we finally returned to camp, we attempted a campfire. And attempted. And attempted some more. We were not successful. Everything was ridiculously wet.
It rained all night. Again. But by the morning, the rain had stopped and while the sun wasn't making a brilliant appearance, things were starting to dry out. For my birthday, I wanted to hike from Schofield Park to Aspen. Brian said, "sure" so we packed our wet camping gear (side note- there is little I dislike more than packing up a wet tent) and Brian dropped me off at the trailhead. He had a 3 hour drive in front of him.
I had this. I think I got the better end of the deal.
West Maroon Pass.
The Crested Butte side, seen from the pass.
Hikers heading down the Aspen side of the pass.
Shameless self-portrait.
Maroon Bells and wildflowers.
Maroon Bells.
The hike was glorious, if not a little packed. I swear, I met the entire state of Texas on that hike. I thought they were all hanging out on the Front Range but nooooo...they're coming to Crested Butte. Which is great and I applaud them. But MAN, there are a lot of them.
The hike was just under 10 miles and took me a little over 4 hours. It was relatively easy with maybe 2300ft. of elevation gain and 3400ft. of elevation loss. I am not a huge hiker- I generally prefer to move on two wheels- but I was surprised at how fast I could hike and how good I felt. Now, of course, anyone faster than me was already ahead of me and probably enjoying their beer and hot tub in Aspen, but I felt GOOD.
It doesn't hurt that the hike is amazing.
You know what else was amazing? The sheer amount of people on the trail for the last 3 miles. I haven't seen that many people on a trail here...ever. Must be an Aspen thing.
I passed a group of women and one of them asked where I hiked from. When I responded "Crested Butte", the lead woman informed the group that Crested Butte was like Aspen, but Aspen has more "caché".
Uh, I don't even know what that MEANS. Which is probably why I don't live in Aspen. Other than the fact that I'm not a millionaire, of course.
We set up camp on Ruedi Reservoir and then we had a regatta. Tygh and I vs. Brian and Hazel. They won, but only because their boat is more efficient. I clearly had the stronger man-power.
The campground was pretty empty and we scored a spot right on the lake. Hazel and I are serious about baby-wearing, as you can tell.
After a perfect DRY night of camping, we headed in to Snowmass for the best outdoor pool ever. Heated to 91 degrees, it's open year-round and includes kid features and waterslides. Hazel spent seven hours there. SEVEN. Tygh did too, obviously. He just broke up his time with some naps in his car seat in the truck.
The adults did NOT spend seven hours in the pool. We took turns riding the Rim Trail.
It is aptly named. And full of climbing. 2000ft. of climbing in the first 6 miles.
On the way back to camp from the pool. Within seconds of the car starting, she was out and Tygh was kicking her head (while playing with an asthma inhaler because we are Parents of the Year). She didn't even notice.
14 years of camping with this handsome guy. Here's to many more.
At this point, I should note that camping with two small children can seem like a ridiculous amount of work. Between tantrums and diapers and hungry kids and cold kids and tired and hungry parents and nap schedules and nighttime sleeping and the packing (OH THE PACKING)...it can be beyond exhausting.
I know. I've been there. And I am here to tell you that taking one kid camping vs. two is EXPONENTIALLY easier. By a power of 2000. Parents of one kid? I laugh uncontrollably when you tell me how hard it is to have one kid. Not to be mean or anything but dude. One kid? SO EASY. Try adding another needy kid to the mix and then see how easy it is to get your tent up within two hours of arrival.
All of that said...this was seriously the most relaxing, easiest camping trip with two kids yet. We set up and took down camp in record time each time. There was minimal screaming. Both kids easily slept through the night (though Tygh and Hazel BOTH talk in their sleep. Blah.). Even with the rain and the wet gear and the change in plans, nobody complained. Everyone ate the food put on their plates. Hazel helped put up and take down the tent and played with her toys in the dirt when Mom and Dad were otherwise engaged with camp chores. Tygh played in the dirt or watched his sister or hung out in the Ergo.
It was all so EASY.
This did not happen overnight. We have had our share of camping challenges/exhausting weekends that cause us to drink. But we love to tent camp and we want our kids to love to tent camp too.
I am convinced that we will have more camping challenges in the future. However, for now? I feel like we have turned a corner. Tygh being 11 months and Hazel being 5 helps. One of my kids can easily play by herself and is so used to camping, it doesn't even occur to her that a tent is an anomaly.
Here's the last bit to this very long could be shorter story: Brian and I are very laid back about camping. And I think it rubs off on our kids.
(Lastly? We sleep train. BEST IDEA EVER. Unless you like waking up all night. Then don't do it. Personally, I like 8-10 straight hours of sleep when I am camping.)
Sometimes, I take baby-wearing to extremes.
On the next day, Brian rode from the reservoir to Basalt to Aspen and then over Independence Pass, at 12,000 feet, 75 miles and 7500ft. of climbing.
He was a little tired when he showed up. And also late. I almost went looking for him.
I immediately plied him with food, lots of food. Because I know what it's like to complete a hard, exhausting ride and then deal with two kids. You need lots of calories for that craziness.
For our last night, we wanted to go somewhere warmer. We went downhill to the Arkansas River which offers free campsites and great views.
Oh yeah, and these characters.
S'mores are on the menu for everyone every night. Except for Tygh. He's already in bed.
Morning view in our tent.
Brian did an epic ride. I needed to do one too. I chose Cottonwood Pass. I made it to 11,300ft. until Brian pulled over, asked me if I wanted to get in the truck and I just nodded because I was so wet, I couldn't even talk.
EPIC RIDE FAIL.
I was about 700ft. from the top but having my fair share of experience with hypothermia, I knew it was best to call it quits. A minute or two of stopping would have had me shivering uncontrollably, unable to work my brakes or my gears. Cottonwood Pass will have to wait until another day.
That was how it all ended: me, dripping wet and freezing within spitting distance of the Pass.
Wait. Actually, that's not true. Because we still had to drive home, unpack the entire truck and take care of two kids. THAT'S how it actually ended. Approximately 5 hours later.
At home that night, we sank in to bed, showered, clean, unpacked, and we looked at each other and squealed, "THAT was an awesome vacation!!"
True story.
