Easter is the holiday that begins our family's love/hate relationship with spring.
Easter, the weekend we shake the winter dust off the camping gear and start dreaming of warm weather and campfires.
Easter, the weekend when we begin to see that glorious light at the end of long winter tunnel.
Easter.
We have high hopes for Easter.
In past years we've made our Easter trek south to Sand Hollow, where we knew we would be south enough in the state to avoid snow storms. This is Utah and it does tend to snow until mid to late June, so late March to early April is a given.
But this year we decided to try something new and headed east instead. We decided to check out part of the San Rafael Swell and see what that had to offer us.
We weren't disappointed. Long day rides, new books from the Easter bunny (a must), card games with Papa Mike, and the first campfire of the year.
We were set.
Also, proof that Easter miracles do happen.
Our campground was set right next to an incredible canyon overlook.
Pictures never do the grandeur justice.
Thanks for the kick-off, Easter. Thanks for the fresh air, stars, and butterfinger donuts. Thanks for the time with my family.
And thank you for the reminder of my Savior. Isaiah 49:16.
I heard it begin as a freezing rain early in the wee morning hours yesterday. As I usually do when it rains hard enough to wake me up, I snuggled down deeper into my covers and smiled, and enjoyed the sound of the rain pelting on my roof until I fell asleep again.
By the time my alarm went off that rain had turned to snow, freezing the wet world into a sheet of ice and then covering it with snow.
The Man stayed home as bad weather often dictates for him.
I braved the slick roads and falling snow for work, but my boss let us leave early as to avoid rush hour in the conditions.
I'm thankful for that.
Getting home early, and having a husband who'd spent the whole day cooped up inside and bursting to do something, we checked out the listings at the dollar theater which is only a block away.
The new Percy Jackson starts in 10 minutes.
Perfect.
Kids where filing in the door, just coming home from school and we were shoving the backpacks away and telling them to get in the car.
In confused bewilderment they did as they were told, and then were happy they did.
The movie wasn't enough to get the cooped up feeling out of West. After dinner he pulled the razor out and started giving rides to the kids up and down the snowy street.
Sometimes there's just too much going on and things need to be set aside for moment.
Now that that's been said and done, it's time to catch up.
But isn't that the way it is for all families?
A few weekends ago The Man and I ran away to Moab.
The Man loves toys with engines, and he's pretty good at riding those toys.
When you live with The Man you have to put up with trips that involve these toys.
But when you live with me you have to put up with, "Hold on! That's so cool and I need a picture!"
Combine those two and you get a blog with picture overload. 68 to be exact and you better believe that's after I cut a whole bunch out.
Two stories before I begin throwing pictures at you:
Our first morning we decided to head into town for breakfast because if it's one thing we love to do it's a breakfast date. We were still waiting for Uncle Tim and Aunt Shirsten to pull in (best camping/riding buddies ever) and were in no particular hurry so The Man meandered to the end of Baby Lion's Back and found the worlds largest mud puddle.
See how deep we're getting into it?
And then suddenly the water starts rushing into the floor boards.
Which was kind of funny at first but then I realized that my purse was on the floor, and that it was now starting to float, and the water was fast approaching the height of my seat.
In the razor rebuild West installed harness seatbelts instead of regular seatbelts. You know, the kind that go over both shoulders and attach across the chest. So when I noticed my purse was starting to swim I jerked forward to grab it out of the water, but couldn't move. My body jammed against the firm hold of the harness and I was getting no where fast.
I'm frantically telling West to back up and scrambling to grab my floating purse with my feet to lift it up to where I could reach it with my hands.
But tell you what, the view on top of Baby Lion's Back is pretty cool. Even if it is little.
On another day West was flying down a sand whoop trail. You know, the trail that rolls up and down... and your man is hitting the gas hoping to catch air when you come back up...
Maybe that's just my man, but I really don't think so. Some of you ladies out there know what I'm talking about.
A bit like this... but our whoops were a bit bigger
So we're flying down this whoop trail that's soft sand.
And we come down whoop and hit the bottom before going up another whoop when suddenly all I can see is sand. Just nothing but sand coming straight at me.
It's like someone took a large shovel full of sand and just tossed the whole scoop straight into my face.
When we came down the whoop the front bumper dug into the sand and lifted a giant scoop up into the air, which we then drove into.
The Man thought it was funny.
Until he looked over at me and saw the expression on my face.
He couldn't tell if I was disgusted or mad, but either way he hit the brakes and came to a stop with a "sorry baby."
Guys, the sand was everywhere.
It was caked to the inside of my sunglasses lenses. It was in my ears and you could build a sandcastle with the amount of sand that was caked in my hair.
My teeth were gritty and the inside of my nose was gooped with it.
It was down my shirt, and covering my lap.
Just for the record, I opted to laugh it off.
But I was a bit disgusted.
Also, when I take pictures, I like to take them from behind The Man when he doesn't know I'm doing it.
Otherwise I get pictures like this:
After our ride on Metal Masher and our side stop on Gemini Bridges, we were headed back to the truck and trailer when we came across a cyclist with a broken pedal.
"How much farther?" He called.
He'd just moved to Colorado from the east coast and it was his first time visiting Moab.
"A few miles still."
He visibly slumped.
So we loaded his bike on the roof of the razor and he climbed up on back for a lift to his car. He'd lost his buddy somewhere a long the way and he had all the water so he was hoping his friend was okay.
We found that friend a couple miles down the road. He was red and exhausted. We gave him a gatorade and our passenger, Kevin, promised to come back and get him with the truck.
Turns out his truck wasn't at the parking lot at the trailhead, but 10 miles down the highway at the outskirts of town where they had started.
Pay it forward, Kevin. We've had help when we've needed it. Help others when you can.
The Man had two goals on this trip.
To conquer Mickey's Hot Tub and The Elevator.
He accomplished both. (But not without me boldly declaring "let me out!" before he tried each one).
Mickey's Hot Tub:
The Escalator:
I do love this man.
West and Aunt Shirsten
We stopped for shakes in honor of Grandpa Dick who 1. loves shakes and 2. Milt being a family name through him.
