Hallefreakinlujah

The planets have aligned, and by that I am referring to Planets Flu and Slacker. Thanks to the most brilliantly timed bout of illness with which I've ever honestly been afflicted, I shall not be slogging through the damp woods with The Dreaded Alexa and my mortal enemy, Mullet Woman. I will not be sullying a perfectly good Brett Favre cap in an effort to keep the ticks out of my hair. I will not be flirting with double pneumonia given the forecast for constant rain and/or snow--and the best part is that, perhaps just by benefit of being mine, my daughter doesn't care.

"If you ask me, a night-time girl scout scavenger hunt is just a recipe for disaster anyway," she justifies, unnecessarily, either because she knows I didn't want to go or because she really didn't either. I am never going to get credit for my willingness, could procure a doctor's excuse from each of my specialists and still be thought a faker: my reputation as the non-participatory scouting mom is just that solid. But, small price to pay for staying warm and dry and avoiding the siren song of motherly martyrdom.

"Maybe on Saturday we could to the movies and to our favorite Chinese restaurant instead," she suggests.

That's my girl; how I love her. And despite fever and cough or possible contagion, we will most definitely be there. Some sacrifices are worth it.

escape clause

And I quote:

"Absolutely no alcoholic beverages are allowed on Girl Scout property. The rule for smoking is that the girls should never see anyone smoking. If you cannot go 24 hours without smoking, please do so in the privacy of your car using your car's ashtray. Violation of these two rules will get you sent home immediately."

Hot damn and hallelujah: the Mother/Daughter Olympiad Campout has an escape clause! Not that I smoke, but I'm sure I can bum one, and my brother has already promised use of his special camping flask. I'm set, and I don't have to be ready 'til Friday: talk about "Be Prepared!" But I suppose that slogan belongs to the Boys. If only my child came equipped with a Y chromosome, I could easily avoid all the Scouting for that group's hateful politics. In the meantime perhaps I'll make a Free Tibet t-shirt and see if that's enough to get bounced from this Spring scouting Olympics. It would be selfless, really: 47 women are waiting for my place.

I really can't imagine. I'm doing it because the girl wants to, because I've been gone, because I'm the mom. It will definitely be a story, maybe it will be fun. Maybe Mullet Woman, the leader, won't get on my very last nerve. Maybe Iceland, our assigned spring olympiad nation (I think the whole thing's rigged) will kick some Girl Scout butt. Or, you know, maybe I'll go back to New York. This just isn't my crowd, at least not for 20 hours. I just can't get my head around any activity for 150 mothers and daughters that advises labeling one's clothes because "you'd be amazed how many pairs of underwear get left behind." I'm sorry, I don't know about anyone else, but if I somehow become separated from my panties in such circumstances, I don't really want them back.

Spring Break '07: Beam me up, Scottie

I had the best intentions of blogging about my Spring Break adventure in the Ozarks, but modern technology arrives last in the wilderness. Injun Joe's had all of life's conveniences to offer and miniature golf too. The Lake of the Ozarks State Park didn't measure up by these standards, but blows Joe's out of the water in terms of a camping experience.

We left Hannibal for Lake of the Ozarks on Thursday morning, Lisa in her maiden voyage at Hope’s wheel. I bided my time catching up on recent newspapers and checking e-mail. We arrived in the Ozarks at 1 p.m. and stopped for lunch at the Happy Fisherman – at least I hope he was happier than his waitresses.

We continued to our reserved campsite at Lake of the Ozarks State Park. Though apparently not yet quite open for the season, it’s hard to complain about the peace and solitude of a state park in the middle of the last week in March. I do have a bit of a beef with people who lock up campsites and don't use them, but that's another post. Thunder and heavy raindrops sent us scurrying to erect our canopy and we huddled briefly in the air-conditioned confines of our camper until the mugginess wore off.

That blew over quickly and we enjoyed an afternoon of warmth, nature and ladderball. We were awoke about 4 a.m. by a heavy storm, but merely had to close the vents to keep the water out and laid snug as a bug in our four-wheeled vacation home. Eventually the rain stopped and I cooked a heavy breakfast before Zach and I ventured out on the bicycles we had gone to great expense and effort to bring along.

I quickly discovered it's a lot hillier in Missouri than Iowa. I must put the three full months remaining before RAGBRAI to good use.

We spent the afternoon and early evening doing the typical Ozark tourists stuff -- roaming through souvenir shops, getting an old fashioned family photo taken, racing go-carts (I went from last to first despite having Karissa as a passenger), and playing miniature golf (I won again).

After loading up on firewood at the grocery store, since the park wasn't yet providing such service and the advice I got from the nearest convenience store was anything but convenient, we headed back to camp for a bonfire and brats. Karissa and I teamed up against Zach and Lisa for a game of Sequence (we won one and lost one). After burning all the firewood, we headed inside to watch "RV" again, but I don't even recall seeing the opening scene.

We had agreed previously that, as charming as Injun Joe's was, we would leave the Ozarks by 3 p.m. and endeavor to complete the entire 325-mile journey home. That way Zach could sleep in his own bed before his little league season-opener today.

We left shortly after 2 and arrived home shortly before 11. Hope made it, the bikes made it and we made it -- all a little worse for the wear, but refreshed by the experience. I love traveling, except for the travel part.

It's neat that you can now ride down the highway and e-mail messages around the world. It'd be better if you transport yourself around the world just as easily.

Spring Break '07: Chapter 1

In my 1.5 square mile world, 200 miles seems like a long way to travel. But even I know it shouldn't take six hours -- not even in an RV dubbed Hope. Yet here I sit at the Injun Joe Campground outside Hannibal, Mo., 200 miles into our Ozark getaway for Spring Break 2007.

Captain's log, 5:26 p.m.: we pull out of our alley sooner than I dreamed would be possible just yesterday. Along the way we delivered my Jeep to my brother-in-law in Oxford so he could fix the stereo while we're gone. That added about 20 miles to our trip and cost us a good half hour. Then, since we hadn't had supper yet, we took the opportunity to visit the new casino in Riverside for the Friday night seafood buffet. It only now occurs to me that it's Wednesday night. Still, the crab legs were what you would expect from a buffet and the casino looked every bit as nice as we had been told. The golf course under construction looks really nice. We wasted no time -- or money -- in the casino, but still lost a good hour on dinner. So now it's 8 p.m. and we're only 45 minutes down the road. Not a good start.

Captain's log, 11:18 p.m.: Hope glides into a fully-equipped RV spot at Injun Joe's, I kid you not. Even in the dark, I can tell this place is uniquely Missourian. I hope to explore its scenic batting cages and picturesque go-kart track in the morning, before we continue our adventure. I had fully intended to layover in a Walmart parking lot, if only to irritate my wife. But in the end I decided an electrical hookup and bathroom facilities were necessities. We don't have a generator, yet, and I wasn't able to fill up on water before we left. Plus I wasn't sure you could legally transport Iowa water into Missouri. If you could, why aren't there places on the Iowa side pushing water to match the fireworks vendors on the Missouri side?

My goal was to get as far as Hannibal, and Injun Joe's was one of a few campgrounds that we had a number for and a general idea where to find it. Plus, since my son is reading Tom Sawyer in school, I thought he would benefit from experiencing it first hand.

"I thought you were kidding when you said we were going to Injun Joe's," he says as we walk the dog and survey the campground. "He's not even a major character."

Oh the irony.

Coming tomorrow (wireless Internets baby jesus willing): Lasting impressions of Injun Joe's and the journey to Lake of the Ozarks.