The Plan
So when our friends, the Russells and the Lofquists, invited us to go with them on their annual trip to Gold Lake, I admit I was suspicious. Linda (half of the Russells) assured me that they were staying at the Gray Eagle Lodge, which had comfortable cabins and provided two meals a day for the price of your visit. I still wasn’t sure where exactly Gray Eagle was, but I called the lodge and made reservations. A month before we were to leave, I making The List. I require a list to travel… doesn’t everyone? Mine runs the gamut from “Call the vet to board the animals” to “Pack underwear”. I used to get really specific about which underwear, but I’m happy to report that I’ve let that go and just list how many pairs. I also started bugging the other women, Linda and Jeannie, about what to take.
According to Jeannie, the previous year she had been told to take a little of everything because it could get below freezing (in August?) up in the Sierra mountains at night. Willing to take advice from the experts, the dear girl had taken everything from parkas to swimsuits, which she and her husband, Dave, then had to pack in their van around their two boys, Dave’s golf clubs, Dave’s mountain bike, and, oh yes, the little TV set that keeps both boys from saying, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” for the entire the car ride. The weather had rewarded her by being, in her words, “hotter than blazes for the entire week.” Air conditioning? Not at Gold Lake. They all lived in their bathing suits.
When I asked the other half of the Russells, Gary, about the weather, he smiled graciously and said, “Yes, it was a little warmer than usual last year…,” as if Jeannie might have been slightly exaggerating. As I watched Linda behind him, mouthing silently, “IT WAS VERY HOT”, it began to occur to me that Gary might be a little biased about the virtues of Gold Lake. Either that, or he was delusional.
Around June, I started wondering in earnest just where this Gold Lake was. Jeannie and Linda had said that the trip was at least 10 hours; Gary smiled and said it wasn’t quite that long, but I wasn’t sure if I believed him. Especially when Linda called the week before the trip and said that she and Gary were going to leave Tuesday night after work and drive for about four hours, then stop in a cheapo motel on the way. That way, she reasoned, the next day’s drive would not be as long and they could actually enjoy part of their first day at the lake. This seemed like a grand plan to me as I explained it to Dale. He gave me The Look. It’s not quite the head-jerking, pop-eyed, “Good God, I’ve married a moron!” look, but it’s the look that says, “Oh, don’t tell me you really think that’s a good idea.” After which he said, “You really think that’s a good idea?” Every married person in America knows the answer to that question.
“No, Dear. I only mention it so we can have a good laugh at the silly Russells for wanting to start their trip early.”
Okay, so that’s not what I really said. I said something about how it might be nice to go with the Russells since they know where the place is and we don’t and Linda says it can be easy to miss and you certainly can’t find it in the dark. Then Dale said something like hmrff, which is what a lot of his answers sound like to me. I admittedly have a hard time hearing my hubby’s deep melodic voice. My options, when I hear “hmrff” are to either pursue his response until he raises his voice and enunciates in frustration, or to let it go for a few days, and then pretend I forgot what he said. I tried the latter. When I approached him with the whole “Traveling with the Russells” idea the second time, he agreed, with a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders.
