Family Time

I-10 takes us from Ft. Stockton in West Texas to Seguin, where Rene's parents live. We spend an afternoon catching up with Paul and Mary Lou, talking about family, birds, and the family of squirrels that live in their tree. And of course Paul's monster rattlesnake he killed recently, 7 feet long and fifteen rattles. After hugs and goodbyes it is back on I-10 to Houston, where Rene's sister Michelle and her family reside. We stay up late catching up with everyone, and then enjoy church, lunch, and a swim. Cousin Emma insists that Houston is the high point of Texas, but we move on in any event. Then, after changing out a dead battery at the local auto parts store, we head for Shreveport, Louisiana...

Lone Star High Point

West Texas is solar system vast. I remember in the 55 mph Jimmy Carter days leaving El Paso for Houston and thinking it would take me days to get there. We left Carlsbad and headed for Guadalupe Mountains National Park. Before long, we could see El Capitan rising from the desert floor, bony white, like an open fracture extruding from its brown desert skin. Less than an hour later we had parked at the base of Guadalupe Peak and stared up at the beginning of the mountain in wonder at how the trail might navigate the steep escarpment, and how we might fare this day. The trail climbs 3000 feet in 4.2 miles, topping out at 8751 feet. The elevation isn't that big a deal for us since we live at 5600 feet. I hike almost weekly throughout the year, Turner plays football and runs track, and Rene', amazingly, works out in our basement at 5 AM on weekdays. That leaves our dear Alex, who hasn't lifted a finger since basketball ended more than a month ago. How would she do? The first third of the trek does indeed switchback up the first mountain with engineering genius. Mountain straight up on the left, down on the right, then switch. At one point, horseback riders are encouraged to DISMOUNT AND LEAD (and some prankster has added a line to the final capital D giving it the appearance of a P... dismount and leap, ha). We climbed the first thousand feet and already we were marveling at the vistas. We think of Radiator Springs from the movie Cars as a legitimate point of comparison. Bluffs, mountain ranges and canyons march off into the hazy distance, each a new color: brown, blue, gray. The parking lot and our car are shrinking to tiny dots below us. Alex was out of breath from the beginning as she tried to keep up with Turner and me, and she was a little discouraged until we got to the top of the first mountain and realized what she had accomplished. Now she was good and trooped the rest of the way at her own pace. The trail shifted to the next mountain, and before we knew it we were on a bridge, another DISMOUNT AND LEAP place, and a mere mile from the top. As we turned south and saw the summit itself, we came to another view. The back side of El Capitan was below us by a few hundred feet. Wow. We knocked out the final switchbacks, and suddenly the American Airlines steel pyramid was right above us, the joyful summit. We four had a giddy time as we took photos and shared stories with other highpointers. Smiles all around, and then... descent. It was a warm, windy day, and though we descended in only 2.5 hours, we were beat and parched when we reached the car. Once again we made an IOU to the United Bank of Alex and bought soda pops at the visitor's center. There is something truly delightful and refreshing about ice cold soda after a long and arduous desert hike. ahhhh. We hopped in the car, and drove through Van Horn. The last time I was here I got to meet the judge late on a Friday afternoon, some 26 years before, after not coping well with the speed limit and having a close encounter with a Texas DPS officer. Turns out the judge was a former Marine, and I was headed to USMC OCS. We got along great, though I was a chunk of money poorer for the experience. Van Horn looks desolate and in serious decline. Many closed businesses and once-decent hotels are now unsavory at the least. We drive on to Fort Stockton, for steak dinner, and a dip in the pool and soak in the hot tub. Now THIS is how to do a high point. What a day! Next up, Driskill Mountain, Louisiana.

The United Bank of Alex

In the million things that happen before family vacation, there's always something that gets neglected. As we were zooming along with our home town in the rear view mirror, Rene' looks at me and says, "I forgot the cash." Bummer. Normally that's okay. Any more you don't need it, but because we're highpointing, cash is handy for entrance fees and the like. This morning at 5 AM I'm googling ATM machines in Carlsbad, New Mexico and wondering if I really do remember my pin code, which I haven't used in years. Fallback position: dishwashing. Not me, of course. The kids. I haven't grown to be 50 years old and have teenaged children for nothing. So anyway, as we leave the hotel Rene' and I are discussing our cash-free situation, and 12 year old Alex pipes up, "I have a bunch of cash in my wallet, you guys need anything?" Heh. "Why yes, sweety we do." My daughter is $35 poorer in the beat of a heart, and we're wallet-packed and ready for Guadalupe Mountains National Park and their entrance fee. It's $5 but the leftover cash would have a more significant role at the end of the day...

Spring Break Six Pack

It has been nearly two years since Turner and I were together on a state high point. In May of 2009 we drove up Mt. Greylock, Massachusetts on a spare tire, and enjoyed the New England spring scenery. A blizzard prevented an attempt on Texas earlier that year, and now we are back to try Guadalupe Peak once more. A rosy New Mexico dawn greets me as I write from the hotel room in Carlsbad, New Mexico. We have driven down from Denver on a Thursday afternoon, enjoying the 600 mile trek thanks to the scenery, a book on tape (Jan Karon's Light in the Window), and the amusements of iphones and laptop computers. We have many memories of this route: countless drives to Texas to visit Rene's family and trips to Big Bend and Carlsbad Cavern National Parks. But Guadalupe Peak is just the beginning of this odyssey, and 600 miles a mere fraction of the total we will drive (Lord willing!!!) these eight days. After a brief visit with Rene's family in Seguin and Houson, the high points of Louisiana, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and Arkansas beckon. And on top of the high points, Alex has also been doing some delicious research, finding wonderful eateries all along the route. More than 3000 miles, six high points, and fantastic food. Now THIS is a spring break!

It is thought-provoking to consider what has transpired in the two years since we sat on Mt. Greylock and looked down on the postcard-like North Adams, Massachusetts. Turner has nearly completed his first two years of high school; there has been football and track; backpacking trips and family vacations; Alex is now in Middle school, and has overcome dysgraphia to be an excellent student. She also has begun her basketball career. We endured a move to Arvada to be closer to school, and have rejoiced at every involvement in the community and in our children's lives. Our church bought a building after 22 years of ministry, or least a part of a building.

Guadalupe Peak is a rigorous climb on a desert trail. We think we will be tired at the end of the day, and already the thought of a pool and a hot tub at day's end sounds amazing. Today marks a turning point. Rene' and Alex are joining us for the first time. Alex is old enough to hike with us now, and there is a certain charm in bringing the whole family together.

Memorial Day Triple: Rhode Island, Connecticut, and Massachusetts

We had to start early if we had any hopes of getting back to West Point at a reasonable time. Judging from Google Maps, the ideal could be as little as 8 or 9 hours. It wasn't ideal. Cutting through Connecticut on I-84, the mist was lying low in the valleys, posing for postcards with white church steeples reaching through trees and clouds. When we shifted onto highway 44 East of Hartford we began curving this way and that, startling fly fishermen awkwardly stepping over guard rails to catch some holiday relaxation before their late-day BBQs. Crazy quilt gravestones leaned in churchyards, tired from age, names and dates washed away by weather as though bringing an end to grief. Gaily arranged nurseries and antique stores with gold-lettered signs came past every few miles, along with churches and homes and the seemingly out of place commercial enterprises. All along the winding wooded ways of Connecticut.

Finally, Rhode Island. We zoomed right past the sign, because it wasn't there. Another sign was in its place, much smaller. So after a mile or two we turned around and parked at the right spot, where my Pastor friend David Roseland was waiting all along. The trail to the highest point in the Ocean state was about a hundred yards, gaining all of a few inches of elevation. It was beautifully forested. Highpoint number eight down.

Our plan from there was to cut across Connecticut on highway 44, all the way to Salisbury, the launching point for Mt. Frissel. Hmm. We forgot that it was Memorial Day, and small towns like to have parades. Between Killington and Hartford there were four or five parades, three of which caused us significant detours. Then, there came the near fatal mistake. 44 cuts through North Hartford, which is very bad. We were totally in the hood, and very nervous for several blocks as glares penetrated our windows. When we got home and remarked about this, Clare Miller told us that she barely escaped a carjacking in North Hartford. Noted. Don't go through North Hartford ever again. On the other side of the capital, again there were several parades - and in Avon and Winsted we had to detour several miles. Yep, way behind schedule.


After a McDonald's stop in Salisbury, we began to navigate our way down delightful gravel roads to the trailhead for Mt. Frissel, on the Mass-CT border. Leaf-dappled sunlight guided our way over six miles, and then we began the second hike. This one was tougher, scambling and clambering over sharp rocks to the top of Round Mountain, and then down again to the saddle, and up to Mt. Frissel, whose summit is in Mass, so you have to go around to the south side to bag the high point. Sweat was dripping off my cap brim in a stream, and my shirt was soaking, but the occasional vista to the North was enough to inspire a rest stop or two. We dodged the poison ivy, greeted a few fellow hikers (but oddly not a single high pointer was met by us this day), and headed down again. There were huge Lady Slippers along the trail at a few places. Neat flower.


We had to backtrack to Salisbury in order to get straight again toward Pittsfield, Mass, and Mt. Greylock 15 more miles to the north. We were stalled by holiday traffic again as we wound through southwestern Mass, and it seemed to take forever to get up to Mt. Greylock. But the top was awesome, towering above the surround terrain by over a thousand feet. Well over. We took pictures quickly, and started back home, more than two hours away, while we listened to the country music Memorial Day Special. Great stuff. We arrived back in West Point at 7:30 PM, 5 hours beyond expectation, but happy.

We live in a great nation, great because of the beauty of its land, but also because of the hearts of the people. It is worth defending.

Interlude: Graduation Day

This is one of those days that make everything else seem pretty insignificant. It was a perspective day. I know we're getting in some high points this extra-long weekend, but the real reason we're here is to witness the graduation of Caroline "Coco" Miller, a seventh generation West Pointer. She grew up in our little church in Denver, Colorado, but had West Point stars in her eyes as long as any one of us can remember. And today, the culmination of her dreams, and her hard work, came to fruition. We are proud to have a small stake in her life but she is the one who deserves the credit. It takes sacrifice to what she did.

The second great blessing is one that goes on and on, fellowship with dearly loved friends with whom we will spend eternity. To that fellowship we will add the face to face presence of the Lord, but days like this are a reminder of what is unique to our faith: the sure promise of eternal life in Christ Jesus, a fantastic eternal life of good things.

New Jersey: Freeways, Scenic Byroads, and a Surprise

We get up early, really early in Colorado, to catch our 7:15 AM flight to Newark, New Jersey. We have to be in West Point, NY for the Baccalaureate service at 7 PM, and that includes hitting the Jersey high point, getting to our temporary residence, changing, and arriving at the Cadet Chapel. The flight (including a great view of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building), the baggage, and the rental car all go really well. Cue slightly ominous music. We head up the New Jersey Turnpike, and the signs are kind of confusing, because there are TWO NEW JERSEY TURNPIKES. Eenie Meenie Miney Moe. Yep wrong one. Inside I'm thinking that I don't want to go to New York City. Not through the Holland or Lincoln Tunnels, not over the George Washingtom Bridge. Not by ferry, either. So we pay our money for the turnpike after waiting ten minutes to do so, and then find our way to I-80 West, and everything feels better. And it is. We're cruising, now.

We take the highway 15 exit and head northwest, and with the freeway MPH we are actually gaining our lost half hour back. Now, we are all starving, and finding a place that has food and drink is increasingly a priority. We go through various small towns, and they are more and more charming the deeper into the woods we get. It is Spring Green and gorgeous at every turn on our winding road, and with the blue sky and warm weather life is really good, and, after missing a Mickey D's in Sparta because of a weird exit where you had to turn right to go left, and another gas convenience store that didn't look all that great, we find a respectable looking deli in Coleville, just a couple of miles from our high point. The stuff looked positively scrumptious. One problem. The guy there was super polite, and several really nice people came in who were friendly, but man, he was painstakingly slow at making the sandwiches. They were delicious, but suddenly we're a half hour behind schedule. We grab our bags and head for the road, and our first high point since New Mexico, last September.

Now here's the nice surprise. It is speck tack u lar. We break out of the forest, and across a little lake we see the half size or so replica of the Washington Monument - that's it! What a beautiful sight. And then, the panorama is also amazing. So we take our picture next to the monument, and looking down we notice gazillions of caterpillars crawling around the ground. How cool. The only disappointment is that the monument is closed.

Next stop: West Point. We are behind schedule thanks to the World's Slowest Sandwich Maker, but oh well. We get there, we meet Col. and Mrs. Lynch, our hosts. We change. We get to the church on time. Wow. God made beauty in Jersey, and man made beauty at the Cadet Chapel. And then, maybe best of all, faces of people that we love. The Millers, the Corliss's, the Johnsons, and of course the graduate we came to see, Coco Miller. Coco sings the solo in the Cadet Choir for the service, and hits it just right, and then we get to catch up with everyone afterward. We are blessed. Monday morning Turner and I will rise early hopefully bag three in one day - Rhode Island, Connecticut, and Massachusetts.