Learning to Fly

Packing for our two-week trip to Colorado took more time than I’d allotted—in part because a certain stealthy poodle kept removing items from my suitcase whenever I turned my back—so we didn’t get to bed until after midnight the day of our departure. I’d optimistically hoped my choice of a gentle wake up alarm might make the lack of sleep less agonizing. Turns out, “babbling brook” sounds a lot like “flushing toilet” at 3:45 a.m. And who could have predicted my iPhone’s back-up alarm, set to the sound of crickets, would sound more like music from the shower scene in “Psycho” than a chorus of insects? On the bright side, the ensuing jolt of adrenaline made for an efficient tumble out of bed.

This was the Weenie family’s first time traveling with their dog, Dexter. Actually, it was the first time we’d ever traveled with a pet at all, unless you count my mastiff-sized carryon bag. (More on that later.) You would have thought we were headed to the Westminster dog show, what with the way we prepared for this scrawny six pound poodle.

Dexter had everything from a canine ski jacket the size of a bedroom slipper, to his medical records and baby Xanax. Replace the Xanax with Benadryl, and you’d think we had a toddler on our hands. His ticket cost as much as ours, yet he had to ride under the seat in front of us. At least they didn’t make him go through the conveyor belt x-ray machine. I can’t imagine TSA officials taking too kindly to a little poodle skeleton showing up on their video monitors.

Contrary to my expectation of absolute chaos, Dexter was so mellow in his tricked out carry case that I was afraid a dose of anti-anxiety medication might render him completely unconscious or possibly even dead. In order to prevent a pall from forming over our vacation as only an unintentionally euthanized pet can do, it was decided that I would take the Xanax and Dexter would monitor the drink cart.

In Part 1 of the Travelin’ Weenie series, I introduced you to the preparations this family goes through before setting out on a vacation. (And by “this family,” I mean me.) In the next chapter of the series, we dig deeper into the delicate art of neurotic air travel…

I bring two bags on every trip. The bag with all my clothing, makeup, toiletries, rain gear, shoes, etc. is checked through, and I carry the other one onboard with me. Despite being weighed at home on the bathroom scale, my checked bag was a few pounds over the 50-pound limit. Thus was I forced to endure the withering stares of the holier-than-thou light-packer set as I moved two sweatshirts and a toiletry kit the size of a small raft into Mr. Weenie’s bag. (This is why I never pack undies or Tampax on top.)

While Mr. Weenie’s carryon bag consisted of a toy poodle and iPod, mine contained enough supplies to set up a small base camp at the foothills of Everest. You may think I’m kidding, but I do not joke about carryon luggage. Here’s what I bring with me on the plane when I travel:

Blow-up neck pillow, Pashmina shawl, sweater, ear plugs, eye mask, fuzzy socks, Advil, Aleve, migraine medication, anti-nausea medication, Dramamine, Xanax, extra Xanax, snacks (may include, but not limited to: nuts, gum, raisins, protein bars, apples, string cheese, pretzels, sandwich, candy and chips), hand sanitizer, Wet Wipes, camera, video camera, external microphone, batteries, Kindle, iPad, iPhone, iPod, actual books (in case all of my electronics fail simultaneously), printed articles from the web (in case my books are confiscated), People magazine (in case there’s a Brangelina emergency), earbuds, chargers, extension cord, paper, pens, pencils, highlighters, extra lead and erasers, tea bags, Post-it notes, sketch pad, maps, lip balm, two rubber bands (in case the first one breaks), paper clips, hair clip, purse, wallet, extra glasses, Emergen-C, Kleenex and Ziplock bags. I also carry on bottled water and a decaf triple espresso procured before boarding.

The contents of this hospital/convenience store/hotel on wheels is the the same whether my flight lasts half a day or half an hour. Welcome to my world.

Stay tuned for Part 3 in the Travelin’ Weenie series: “Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position”

After landing at the Denver airport, picking up our embarrassing mountain of luggage from the baggage carousel and renting a car, the Weenies were off on their Colorado extravaganza. Supposedly the first leg of our long drive through the Rockies was quite beautiful. I know this because Mr. Weenie told me so. Apparently I’d fallen asleep about ten minutes into our two-week journey, thanks to my inflight cocktail of Xanax and Dramamine.

As I awakened from my drug-induced coma somewhere near Cripple Creek, we decided to stop for sustenance; and by sustenance, I mean potato chips and powdered sugar doughnuts. So there we were—making our way around snowcapped mountains and winding rivers, all hopped up on trans fats and corn syrup. Unfortunately, even the refreshing breeze of the largest mountain chain in North America couldn’t overcome the stench of a certain foul-breathed poodle who’d just spent three hours in a bag stuffed under a seat. All I could do was thank the gods for Febreeze and cover his head with a map.

Traveling with a dog is both fun and challenging. Getting Dexter to eat and drink by the side of the road was a poor choice, so we gave up and decided to feed him in the car. He was a champ at car dining. Unfortunately, his mother was not so swift. Take note, all you pet-loving travelers: Do not attempt to toss a dog dish full of water out the window of a car going 65 miles per hour. Other highlights of the drive included unintentionally going off-road during a snowstorm and peeing on my own foot.

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Our first overnight stop was in Cañon City, a small town with the dubious title of “Colorado’s Prison Capital.” Highlights included the nearby Supermax Facility—high security home to some of the country’s most violent criminals. (Not to be confused with the other high security supermax of the feminine hygiene variety.)

According to our guidebook, we were staying at a very well-known establishment. Famous guests over the years included the likes of John Wayne, Charles Bronson, John Belushi and Cory Haim (no doubt all visiting friends in prison). As we dropped our bags in a room that had clearly once housed a petting zoo, Bill noted that the name “Quality Inn” was relative to whether you were referring to the motel itself or to its service and smell. I’m pretty sure the sheets hadn’t been changed since John Wayne was a guest, but I was too tired to care. We hopped into bed at 7:30 and slept in our clothes.

Tune in next time for Part 5 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Catch up with the rest of the saga…
Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position

Day two of the Weenies’ excellent adventure began with a visit to the Royal Gorge. In addition to its spectacular plunge of over 1,000 feet to the Arkansas River below, the Royal Gorge’s sheer cliff walls support the world’s largest suspension bridge. Even more impressive than the bridge itself was the fact that I had cell service from just outside the park gates. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s possible when I regularly drop calls on the way to my sister’s house in west Austin.

While the circus surrounding this national treasure reminded me of a geologically-themed amusement park, and the entry fee for the two of us sounded as steep as the rock walls beyond the front gate, Mr. Weenie insisted it was worth the price. Keep in mind that I was traveling with the Clark Griswold of the Weenie family. As I stood there envisioning a $50, 30-second, head-nodding peek at the gorge from atop a very large bridge, a generous old codger handed us a six dollar discount coupon (which coincidentally, was the exact price of a funnel cake). Decision made.

Sorry folks, park's closed!

Having paid for the experience, we decided to take full advantage of all the park had to offer, which as it turned out, included a terror ride to the bottom of the gorge in a small metal cage. I was excited to spot a huge eagle soaring by on our way down; then somewhat disappointed when a four-year-old boy correctly identified it as a very large crow.

We smuggled Dexter into the park via a baby carrier-type contraption with a shawl draped over his head. It was a good thing the little ones got in for free. After paying $150 for a doggie airline ticket, I was damned if we were going to drop another 25 bucks so that the world’s ugliest baby could ride a gondola down the side of a cliff.

After wandering the area for about an hour and a half, the Weenies found themselves hungry and bridge-weary. The walk to the refreshment stand was about ten yards with a three foot rise in elevation, but by all the huffing and puffing you would have thought we were about to summit K2. Twenty minutes later, six dollar funnel cake in hand, the Weenies sat down in the sun to enjoy some great people watching and a well-deserved royal gorge of their own.

Tune in next time for Part 6 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Catch up with the rest of the saga…
Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…

After our exciting morning at the Royal Gorge, the Weenie family arrived in Pagosa Springs, which would be home base for the next week. Our condo was perfectly located in close proximity to some of southern Colorado’s most beautiful hiking. That said, our first full day in Pagosa was spent sleeping. Literally. We slept until noon-ish, ate, napped, napped again, had dinner and went to bed around 8:30.

Dexter is not pleased with Mother’s internal compass.

The real adventure in Pagosa Springs began the next day, when Dexter and I set out on our first hike. The weather was a bit cloudy and cool as we went outside to explore the neighborhood. After winding our way through the area, we came upon a quaint gravel path leading to yet another set of condos. Beyond that there was a small beaver pond I was hoping to reach before the weather turned.

About a minute later when the skies opened, Dexter and I decided to head back home. Now, I’m not known for my keen sense of direction, so it’s generally a good idea to assume my internal compass points the opposite way from where you’d want to go. Bearing that in mind, I had three choices: (1) Go the way I thought we should go; (2) Go the opposite way from where I thought we should go; or (3) Walk in circles until someone found us.

Having opted for the latter, Dexter and I set off in a circular fashion as gigantic taunting crows took our lead and circled overhead. While these asshole harbingers of doom mocked us from above—all the while hoping my small, leashed, rodent-like companion would make a break for it—I spotted a figure walking toward us.

This being a retirement community, the fit-looking man walking across the street appeared to be somewhere in his mid-seventies. While I donned a sweater, heavy pants, fleece pullover, ski jacket, gloves, scarf and a hat; this fellow was strolling around in jeans and a light windbreaker. When I flagged him down to ask where I was, he happily offered to show me the way home.

As I removed my glasses to wipe off the rain, I told our new friend that I thought the condo was brown and near some aspen trees. After replacing my specs, I realized that every condo as far as the eye could see was brown and surrounded by aspens. Within 15 minutes of searching I was out of breath, sweating and mumbling incoherently, so just to stave off further embarrassment I lied and said we had indeed located the right place. Then I walked up to the front door of some random stranger’s home.

While I wistfully watched my trailblazing friend fade into the distance, I suddenly remembered I was carrying a phone that could do everything but clean the toilet. I looked up our address, but unfortunately my iPhone was unable to smack me across the face and tell me that the condo was right behind us. Dexter and I ended up wandering around the parking lot in the rain for another 20 minutes before finally finding our way home.

Tune in next time for Part 7 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Catch up with the rest of the saga…
Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley

Uh-oh-spaghetti-o

Unlike our usual vacations where we eat out for virtually every meal, the Weenies decided to prepare most of our own while in Colorado. Now this probably sounds like a completely normal thing to do for most people, but in case you haven’t noticed, the Weenies are not most people. You see, even when we’re at home we rarely make dinner together. For one thing, Bill and I don’t eat the same foods (he’s the steak to my tofu), so we usually end up having completely different meals at completely different times. I may get hungry at 6:00, whereas his dinner might consist of Whataburger taquitos at 1:00 a.m.

So to say we were a bit out of our element would be an understatement. Since one of us had to stay in the car with Dexter T. Poodle while the other went into the grocery store, much of the decision making was left to the shopper. This explains why we had spaghetti, fruit and veggies in the basket when I did the shopping; while when Bill was in charge, there was an abundant supply of cookies and cinnamon rolls in the pantry.

The first meal we prepared was spaghetti with tomato sauce and veggies. Easy enough. After everything was ready, I made a big plate of pasta and sauce for Bill, which I proceeded to fling directly into the sink. That about sums up my cooking skills in a nutshell.

Other food-related hiccups during our vacation included an in-flight salsa explosion, the unfortunate altitude-meets-yogurt episode, a coffee-on-Nikon/poodle moment, and the great Rocky Mountain scrambled egg incident.

Tune in next time for Part 8 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Catch up with the rest of the saga…
Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City

Opal Lake: Not so easy for the Weenies, but well worth it.

The Weenies’ second hike was somewhat more successful than the first. For one thing, we didn’t get lost in the parking lot. As a warmup we decided to take what the brochure called an “easy” jaunt up to a mountain lake. Note: “Easy” in Colorado is not the same as “Easy” in south Austin. I told Bill we needed more than one bottle of water, but he was convinced our little walk wouldn’t take more than 45 minutes or so.

An hour and a half later we shared our last rationed sip of water as we watched the mud under our feet (and paws) turn to snow. To be fair, we did have a lovely lunch by a mountain lake, although considering the water situation, my choice of peanut butter and jelly was not very well thought out.

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Over the next few days we chose much easier hikes (for real this time). Other than when I almost fell into a giant crevasse (which turned out to be one in a series of very cool ice cave fissures), the hiking was fairly uneventful. We climbed up ridges to gorgeous waterfalls, while resident fecal expert, Bill Haddad, kept us apprised of the bowel habits of Colorado’s diverse woodland creatures. Who knew a walk in the woods could be so educational?

Tune in next time for Part 9 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City
Part 7: Man Does Not Live by Cookies Alone

One of the top items on the Pagosa Springs “must do” list is soaking in the healing waters of the hot springs. While the sulphuric smell of rotten eggs is a bit of a turnoff, the nose quickly adjusts once the soaking has begun. The Weenies decided to splurge on a spa that offered massages in addition to the springs. Our only problem was a certain small fuzzball who also happened to smell like rotten eggs.

While taking a two week vacation in the Colorado Rockies with your toy poodle may sound like a good idea in theory, I encourage you to think long and hard before doing so. There were very few things we missed along the way due to poodle intolerance—we even managed to slip him into a few restaurants here and there—but sneaking him into a spa seemed a bit optimistic.

After setting up a voice recorder while Bill and I were out one morning, we discovered Dexter had a severe case of separation anxiety (you would have thought we’d left him with Cruella DeVille), so we called the spa to get special permission to bring him along. How naive we were to think he’d just sleep through a 90-minute hot rock massage in his little bag without incident. Apparently the mountain air had given the Weenies a severe case of the stupid.

After boiling ourselves in spring water while the sun burned our winter-white skin, we decided Dexter would join me at my massage since he tends to be a bit on the mom-centric side. I explained to the massage therapist what the deal was, and she was fine with it. About five minutes into the treatment I heard a sound: “Scritch, scritch, scritch! Zip, zip, zip!” The indignant poodle began scratching at the screened opening of the bag to indicate his unhappiness. “Scritch, zip, scritch, zip!” Dexter had managed to partially unzip the bag and stick his head out like a long-necked gopher, which resulted in a first degree burn to my back when the therapist lost control of her hot rocks.

“Scritch, scritch, zip!” Sigh. The tolerant massage therapist suggested we place Dexter’s carrier under the table where I could reach down and slip my hand inside the bag to rub his belly. This worked great for Dexter, but it kind of sucked for me.

When I flipped onto my back, Dexter was left sitting under the table, apparently convinced I had disappeared altogether. “Zip, scritch, zip, scritch!” Now the massage therapist was laughing while I was planning a play date between Dexter and a hungry coyote. We eventually had to take the evil poodle out of his sack and place him on my belly while the therapist worked around him on my arms and legs. He briefly sniffed the massage oils, then plunked his head down and started to snore. That bastard.

So I basically spent $150 plus an extremely generous tip for the most un-relaxing massage ever. Meanwhile, Bill came out of his room looking like a swarthy noodle, having just experienced the best massage of his life. That bastard.

Tune in next time for Part 10 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City
Part 7: Man Does Not Live by Cookies Alone
Part 8: Mountain Mama

Me & Dex in Leadville

After a wonderful week of hiking, the Weenies said goodbye to Pagosa Springs and turned their sights westward toward Durango and beyond. Sadly, the Durango Railroad didn’t allow poodles, so we continued on up past Silverton to the heart-pounding twists and turns of the “Million Dollar Highway” (named, I assume, for the amount of money you promise God you’ll donate to starving orphans if you survive). Clark Griswold had us on a tight schedule, so after a quick lunch in the sleepy mining town of Ouray, we headed out for our next destination.

Black Canyon, Gunnison National Park

The highlight of the day was definitely the Black Canyon of Gunnison National Park. The Royal Gorge seemed comically small compared to this rugged masterpiece of solid rock. We saw lots of wildlife there, including some sort of chicken-like creature we initially thought was a hawk. (Clearly the Weenies’ birding skills are not very well developed.) We drove all the way down to the riverbed, 2000 feet below, then tried getting back up to the top before sunset. Have you ever tried outrunning the rotation of the earth? Not as easy as Superman made it appear, but sort of fun in a Lucy and Ethel kind of way.

The only negative was that I left my coat at the hotel where we stayed that night, which didn’t bother me much until we got to Leadville the next day. Did you know Leadville is the highest incorporated city in the United States? And do you know what that means? That means it’s freaking COLD there, people.

Tune in next time for Part 11 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City
Part 7: Man Does Not Live by Cookies Alone
Part 8: Mountain Mama
Part 9: Why Poodles and Spas Don’t Mix