(October 3, 2019)
Day Two, was spent at The International Spy Museum. The evening prior, our niece had purchased tickets online for a 1030 arrival, as the museum prefers to stagger it’s patrons for a more enjoyable experience. Ticket prices range between $18-23 dollars with children under 6 free, and discounts for active duty military. I can say without a doubt, that the experience is certainly worth the price of admission, as this museum is full of so much information your brain will hurt. We started our day unintentionally practicing good “spycraft”, having been dropped off at the King Street Metro station and boarding the wrong line, only to realize it once the Arlington stop came upon us. We exited at this stop in order to backtrack to the rail-line we needed to have boarded. Pretending we were “spies” we surmised that our inattention enabled us to identify a potential “tail”, as this was a sparsely populated stop. Releaved that no one exited with us (again thinking as “spies”), we joined a family of 4 that was on the platform waiting for the next train. In 4 minutes the appropriate line arrived and we headed back toward whence we came and got off at the Pentagon, where we changed rails and boarded the appropriate line to the L’Enfant Plaza Exit. Confident we had shaken any possible “tail”, we exited our stop and did our best to follow the “coded” directions provided by the Spy Museum’s website, which read as follows:
“The Museum’s address is 700 L’Enfant Plaza, SW Washington, DC 20024.
METRORAIL
The closest Metro station is L’Enfant Plaza (Green, Yellow, Orange, Blue, and Silver lines).
Upon exiting the L’Enfant Plaza station, please proceed to the L’Enfant Plaza Mall Concourse, take the L’Enfant Plaza Exit up the escalator to enter the L’Enfant Plaza food court. Note: you will see Starbucks on your right as you reach the top of the escalator. Enter the glass doors straight ahead to access the food court. At the first hallway, when you reach Roti Mediterranean Grill, turn right.”
(For us, these directions, proved to be a total misdirection, which we found quite ironic considering the place we were trying to get to, and how our morning started. There was a Starbucks on our right at the top of the escalator, but the first hallway we reached, there was NO Roti Mediterranean Grill.)
“Continue straight until you reach the Jamba Juice stand. You will see a large flight of stairs in front of you. Take the stairs up to the ground level and exit through the glass doors to your left once you reach the top. You have reached the back side of the Museum. Walk towards 10th street, SW to access the Museum’s main lobby doors. If an elevator is preferred, one is located in front of the Jamba Juice. Take it to the Plaza level. The Museum will be directly behind you when you exit from the elevator vestibule.”
So, what the directions don’t tell you, is once you exit the Metro, there is more than one escalator and which escalator to take. We, obviously chose the wrong one.
Not to worry, as we were resourceful and asked for directions, which also proved to be somewhat convoluted. We then accessed Google Maps, which also took us on a circutous route as well, but got us close enough to see the giant RED building, and we navigated from there, laughing all the way.
Once inside the museum, of which I suggest you bring a jacket, as it very cool inside as a climate control measure for the many artifacts on display within the museum, it is time to head to the “Briefing Center” where you recieve you “cover identity”, and should you choose to accept it…your Undercover Identity. Bum Bum Buuuum. With your lanyard and “ID badge” (which you may keep), that is used for interactive purposes during your “mission”, you enter the dark world of the International Spy.
There are five centers of the museum to become totally immersed in:
- Stealing Secrets: Here you can listen to first hand accounts of spying, and get a look at REAL gadgets and inventions/tools of the “trade” used to steal secrets.
- Making Sense of Secrets: Code cracking and turning secrets into useful information is explored/explained
- Covert Action: Here ACTUAL and historical actions are on display in examples of, Sabatoge, Deception, Lethal Action, Secret Soldiers, Undermining Nations, Propoganda and Exfiltration (ie. the 2012 movie ARGO, that is a true story)
- Spying the Shaped History: This floor explores stories from the American Revolution to our current cyber warfare. If you ever watched the remarkably historically accurate AMC series TURN (4 seasons now on Amazon Prime), you will see and learn about these real American Revolutionary spies. An ACTUAL letter penned by George Washington to a revolutionary spy is on display.
- An Uncertain World: How do countries/businesses (worldwide) respond to threats – real, percieved, or contrived. What is the balance between security and freedom? It is here that we learned a little more about some of the most notorious spies of the 20th Century, to include Robert Hanssen (who spied for Russia 1979-2001) that inspired a side trip for the following days adventure. The 2002 TV/Movie “Master Spy”, and the book by David Wise, “SPY” explore the world of this notorious spy.
We spent a total of 5 hours at this fascinating museum, and we didn’t cover ALL that was housed within this treasure trove of information that tantilizes your senses and intellect. Interesting to note is that this museum operates as 501(c)(3) private non-profit and recieves no tax-payer/government monies to operatate. Many of the artifacts are donated, or on loan from governments and private owners. (One of the cars from the many James Bond movies is on display) The nominal fee charged for admission goes to fund the museum’s research, exhibits and educational programs/events.
As we exited from the Debriefing Center, having “successfully” completed our “Undercover Missions”, we vowed to make it a point to return to this museum to complete our exploration of the world of the International Spy. I wouldn’t be suprised if new and additional subjects/events/situations/inventions (think “current events”) will be on display.
What used to seem larger than life was somehow reduced to a monopoly game pieces. We arrived at the Reagan Airport just in time to be caught in the traffic headed to the Washington Nationals ball park for their life or death wild card playoff game against the Brewers, of which we almost were able to attend. The fact that the Nationals won coming from behind in the 8th inning made for a spectacular finish, and not a total loss of a day. The days following, until the 8th, were to be filled with a plethora of “touristy” family activities with our niece and her husband (newly retired) as our guides. To their kids dismay, they still had to go to school.
Day one began by with catching the Metro into downtown. As luck would have it (thank you Mother Nature), we arrived in DC during a record breaking heat spell, with this day being one of the hottest days (98 degrees) on record since 1941. As a result, any touring would be spent inside as much as possible. Our first stop, the 
We found some displays more humerus than others…get it? Humerus? Anyhoo, while their were several other areas within the Natrual History museum, we spent most of our time enthralled with the dinosaur exhibits, fascinated with not only the size of their bones, but more importantly the sharpness of their teeth. I certainly would not wanted to be an early human, as they obviously, for some time, were NOT top of the food chain, but seemingly part of it. Having “filled” our heads, it was time to fill our stomachs. And fill them we did with an amazing lunch at the historic 
Simply described in one word, Elegance. The building’s exterior and interior atrium has kept its historical and intricate craftsmanship. We however, were here to experience DC, and all its architectual glory and design from the clocktower.
To access the clock tower, one enters from the “backside” of the hotel, adjacent the Starbucks. From here you enter double doors, make a left, which leads you to the Trump store and a security guard who makes sure that you don’t have any liquids with you if you are headed to the clocktower. You make a right and follow a long hallway adorned with very informative interpretive panels about the history surrounding the design of DC. At the end of the hallway, and a right turn, you are met by a National Park Ranger who inquires from whence we came and directs us into the small elevator that first takes you to the 9th floor, where you can peak into the post office/hotel atrium/lobby-bar and the area where the pulls for the United States Bells of Congress, in which there are 6 varied size bells ( 581lbs – 2953 lbs) housed in the clock tower are located. The 
Once you pass the bell pulls, you board another elevator that takes you to the open air clock tower. From here, the 360 degree views are stunning. We lucked out with a near perfect bluebird day.
Being able to see buildings from above in their “entirety” makes for a more complete perspective of the enormity and design of the Federal Triangle complex as well as other buildings within easy eyesight. This 315 ft tall platform above DC, the second tallest in DC, also allowed for significant respite from the record breaking heat wave the city was experiencing. Eventually we got thirsty and as Paul said, to the chagrin of a secruity guard who happened to ride the elevator down with us from the bell pulls level, “push C for cocktails”. Considering that the hotel sported two bars (that we could see), we opted to enjoy a cocktail at the smaller and tucked away bar to the left of the lobby (as you enter the hotel), whose backbar facade sports original P.O. Boxes. A pleasant conversation with the two bartenders tending bar, revealed that one of them hailed from Huntington Beach, where he worked as an ocean lifeguard. Turns out we knew several of the same people…and the world shrinks, yet again!
Kings Canyon National Park holds a special place in my heart, as it is where I got my first introduction to backpacking and camping in the “wild”. When I was 10 years old(or there abouts), and for Father’s Day, my dad and I went on a short backpacking trip to fish some streams in the area. As I recall, less than an hour into the hike, I slipped and fell while crossing a stream (and looking for fish), which resulted in me becoming completely soaked…backpack and all. My father reacted with an often heard phrase, “Now why’d you have to go and do that?” As we enter, snow flanks the edges of road. Signs posted along the road to the entrance remind us that chains may be required, and certainly 4WD is a plus. We drive to Grant Grove Village where the Kings Canyon Visitor Center (open 9-4, daily) is located and inquire about trail conditions…if micro spikes or snowshoes would be more appropriate. We are advised that snow shoes would be a “plus”, so we done our 
Under increasingly clouding skies and icy cool air we clumsily make our way to experience one of the world’s natural treasures. Once again, we have a normally crowded park to ourselves. Due to the excessive and late falling amount of snow, all of the campgrounds are still closed. Day use, and/or those staying in the John Muir Lodge in Grant Grove Village are the only visitors, which are remarkably few.
We made it to paved loop trail (that we could also have driven to) that contains the General Grant Tree and several other unique sites, and removed our snow shoes. 
The General Grant Tree is fenced off so it is difficult to really show off this tree’s (and several others) massive girth and height. The giant sequoias grow to upwards of 300 ft, with 40 foot diameter bases, 31 inch bark and branches that can be 8 ft in diameter. These trees are resistant to fire and insects. In fact, their small egg sized cones generally only open and drop their seeds with fire. 
These magnificent trees mostly die of old age, generally having been blown over due to their shallow root system. We meander along the trail, reading the interpretive signs and shaking our heads in wonder.
We make our way through the “fallen monarch”, and note newly fallen giant limbs having intersected violently with the wood rail fencing meant to keep visitors from wandering off the paved trail. It makes us question the “wisdom” of walking back through the forest as the wind begins to pick up. Literally throwing caution to the wind, we step back into our snowshoes and huff our way back to Grant Village and the warmth of our truck. We are in luck, for the 32.5 miles, 
We stopped just before the tunnel, in a perfectly placed parking lot, and are treated to an iconinc view of the valley with El Capitan (3,000 ft), Half Dome (5,000 ft) and Ribbon Falls (1,612 ft) intesecting along a diagonal line. When we arrive at the Wawona Campground we are pleased to find several sites open for the night. 
We chose a spot in the upper park of the campground, a short walk from the South Fork of the Merced River. In no time, Ethan and Bell also found their way into Wawona, and as there is room, they join us in our site. We spent the evening chatting, sharing stories and whiskey. In so many ways, they are a younger version of us.
We were completely surprised (don’t know why) to see snow still lining the sides of the now barely two lane roadway. When we reached the Crater Lake Post office, we found the turn off to the East Rim Village Drive closed, and virtually NO available parking that would allow us to park our truck and go on a snow shoe adventure. 
Who thought a Tuesday in April would be so busy…and snowy? Oh wait, that’s right, it just happened to be Spring Break. Sometimes being retired, and having no sense of “common” calendar events, throws a wrench into our adventures. Dejected, we hopped back in the truck and retraced our path to the I-97, south toward California.
I would officiate 13 games over two days, while Paul skied 
We rolled into the lot and picked a site, set up.
The following morning, under cloud engulfed skies we headed to the ticket booth to get our passes for the day. Straight up to the top we went via the gondola, still shrowded in clouds. The snow was a little sticky, as we obviously had the wrong wax on our skis to accommodate slogging through the heavy “wet cement”. The fact that my goggles decided to fog on me continually despite all my tried and true efforts to clear them, and the fact that my legs were completely worn from 13 games over two days made for a frustrating and frankly unpleasant session. This was highly disappointing as when we did the PCT in 2014, we walked above and across from the Crystal Mountain ski area, admiring its terrain and vowing to return and ski this place. After two hours, we called it and decided to head back toward California with grand intensions of making several side trips in Oregon and Northern California before going home for the season. We however, have not given up on this ski area, and plan on making a bee-line to Crystal Mountain much earlier in the 2019-2020 ski season when the snow is “fresher”.
We left home early enough in the morning (which required a nap on my part) to make it to the Park City Home Depot and pick up our 
As we near Baker, a long and narrow glissening “lake” appears to our right, a natural catch basin for this season’s voluminous winter storms. Climbing out of the Mojave desert basisn, and now at 4000ft, I awake to an expansive and dense forest of Joshua Trees in full bloom with the tips of their bottle brush limbs frosted antique white. ( I couldn’t get Paul to slow down, or pull over, to take a picture of the Joshua trees)
We thread through the familar sites of the Virgin River gorge, an ever growing St. George Utah, past our turn-off in Parowan where we mule deer hunt, and on through Orem where we make our turn “uphill” onto Hwy 52 that melds into Hwy 189 in search of the Park City Home Depot. We arrive in what we believe to be “plenty of time” to pick up the box, install it, and get to the 
Having done so, I triumphantly wheeled the box back out to the truck where Paul took a hammer to the dents, and once he fastened the box (after drilling the appropriate holes) it straightened it out sufficiently. By now, night had descended, which required a stop at Park City’s Whole Foods Market for our evening’s meal. We made a point to park where we had room to maneuver with the box now attached to the rear of our truck. We were concerned how the extension of 3 feet would affect our turning radius and distances when backing. We would soon put this to the test. For when we arrived at the Park City RV park, rather than take a perfectly flat and “empty” RV site, we dutifully headed to the area earmarked for truck campers. We located a site and initially pulled head-in, but thought otherwise of it, as everyone else was backed into their sites. We imagined that they had done so because the weather could change at any moment. Prior to Paul backing up (in the pitch-black night), he implored me to watch so he didn’t back into anything. Well…before I could put on my phone’s light to see where I was going, Paul was slowly backing. At the same time, I literally walked into our “neighbor’s” black Toyota truck and as I was attempting to alert Paul to the truck I had just bumped into, I became painfully aware that it was too late. Paul had already backed up past me and had now, ever so slightly, scraped past the tail end of the black truck and was now pulling forward with the wheels turned to better set up to back into the site. I yelled for him to stop, which he obviously could not hear over the sound of our diesel engine, nor could he see me waving wildly in the dark of the night. What then followed was the most horrible crunching sound of metal and plastic, as the ass end of our newly acquired shiny box intersected with the taillight and rear bumper of the black truck.
8am, and a full night’s sleep, we were up and ready to hit the slopes! A stop at the the most sad and pathetic Walgreens for some KT tape for my knee, followed by three missed turns (that lead us into Salt Lake City’s significant homeless population, who were patiently waiting in long lines for a hot breakfast) reminded us of our true and sustained good fortune, even in the face of our regular misadventures. Once onto the correct freeway, our morning’s destination would be Big Cottonwood Canyon (34 miles or so away) where we skied 
Forlorn, we retreated to 
In all my years, I have never seen Mammoth so WHITE and FLUFFY!
On our way out to Hwy 395 we made sure to stop at the 
We pulled into the sparsely populated parking lot at Alpine Meadows mid-morning and hit the slopes.
Half-way into the day’s sparsely populated ski runs, we got a frantic and tearful call from our daughter. It appeared that Bruce (our 15 year old dog) had a brain tumor and per our Vet (for whom our daughter works for as a VetTech), Bruce most likely wouldn’t last the week if he failed to respond to the now prescribed medication. SHIT! And we were planning to head to Utah once we had finished skiing for the day. 
x 16″(H) Diamond plated aluminum
Along comes this runt of the litter, who had been adopted and then returned, and then adopted once more by my wily, and convincing daughter. She was 10 years old at the time, and had decided at the age of 8 to become a Veterinarian (she is now a VetTech). Having gone through a plethora of “pets”, she convinced Paul to allow the adoption of a brown 2lb, 8 week old Rat Terrier/Chihuahua mix into our household, by pleading, “How am I ever going to become a Vet if I have never had a pet!” While he reminded her of the assortment of “pets” she had brought into the house over the years, she confidently replied, that those “didn’t count”. The puppy, who our daughter named ‘Bruce’, was allowed on the condition that Paul would have nothing to do with the dog, to include: petting, feeding, or cleaning up after him. As evidence of the picture below…that didn’t happen.
While Bruce barely stood 10 inches tall and was 10 lbs sopping wet, he honestly believed he was, and therefore acted like, a BIG dog. He was large and In-Charge. So much so that he “ran” the street we lived on. Our neighbors referred to him as “The Mayor”. Often, he would squeeze through each neighbor’s front gate and inspect (and ”mark”) their yards on his daily, (and often, unaccompanied) “walks” from our yard, having escaped through and/or under our fence when we were not home. Our previous dog (a 125lb Doberman) would have been proud of Bruce and his Houdini talents. (Our Doberman had figured out how to open the latch on our front gate in order to make his “rounds” when we were out. Later when he was relegated to the garage, when we’d leave for work, he not only figured out how to open the garage door, but also how to close it. As such, he would be home “sitting pretty”, and “angelic” when we returned home.) He was too smart for his own good. Bruce was the same, which makes me wonder if a dog’s soul gets recycled. Now Bruce couldn’t reach the latch, nor squeeze through slats on the gate, or back fencing (after we shored that up), but somehow he figured out how to leap and climb the 2ft tall chicken wire to squeeze through the bars of the fence, so that he could still make his “rounds”. He took his “mayorship” seriously. He had a neighborhood to patrol, and “homebound” friends to visit. When we raised the height of the caged barrier, he tunneled under it, cleverly disguising his hole by rolling a tennis ball into the indentation of dirt, when he left, and upon his return. It was only when our daughter was home sick from school one day, that we discovered his craftiness. While moaning on the couch and wondering where her dog, that was supposed to be comforting her, was, she spied Bruce as he appeared in the neighbors yard. She watched, as he calmly shimmied under the fence and then rolled an adjacent tennis ball into the “hole”, and then trotted triumphantly back inside the house for a drink and a snack. As well as being an escape artist he was a ball chasing maniac. He would chase and retrieve a full sized tennis ball till his paws bled (if you let him). He would torment and literally mock our neighbor’s Yellow Lab (Jake) when his owner (Russ) would throw Jake’s giant tennis ball down the street. Once Bruce heard the wet “thump” of Jake’s ball on the pavement, Bruce would scratch and bark at the gate till we could “release the hound”. He would follow after Jake “smack-barking” in his face as Jake returned the ball to be thrown again. We imagined his “smack-barking” going something like this…”Dude, how you letting a little old dog beat you to the ball? Didn’t eat your kibble this morning, huh? Your big ol paws too sore? What kind of retriever are you?”. As “The Mayor” he had quite the influence on the neighborhood dogs. He even “talked” Jadie, another neighborhood Lab to pull marinating steaks off the counter of our next door neighbors (and eat them), in order to teach them (our neighbors) a lesson about keeping their garage door open. When the kids were younger and the neighborhood was filled with young families and kids, we would often play “home run derby” in front of our house. Bruce was always on the batter’s team, for once he got the ball, he would run like the wind, weaving with superior agility between every fielder (child and adult) as his “teammate” would run the bases. Often we would need to have three whiffle balls just to be able to play the game without serious interruption from Bruce and his superior fielding. Our Doberman was known to do the same thing, except the kids weren’t brave enough to chase him. Like our Doberman, he took particular delight in making male teenagers scream like “girls”, especially if they were on a skateboard. They both hated skateboarders, and made it their duty to ensure the CCRs of no skateboarding allowed, was enforced to it’s fullest. Nothing like having a furry “missile” racing toward your feet, barking ferociously for you to get off your skateboard, post haste. He was also not particularly fond of German Shepherds (with the exception of Desi, with whom he was in “love” with) or smushed faced dogs, and he let them know it. Most of all, Bruce was a great companion. When our daughter went to college, he essentially became “our” dog, a duty he took seriously as well. He insisted on sleeping in our bed (with us), as he was athletic enough to leap up onto our raised bed (no matter how many times we kicked him off). For the life of us, we could not figure out how this 10lb marvel could manage to take up so much space that we would awake at the respective edges of our bed. Interestingly enough, our Doberman would do the same thing, which further lends to my theory of “recycled” (family specific) dog souls. During the last year of his life, his athleticism declined to the point that he slept most of the day, and in the evening, on an old down blanket at the foot of our bed. When both our kids were in college, Bruce joined us on most of our outings. Although he was small, he was able to walk 6 miles-a-day, requiring only a nap, before insisting on a round of ball chasing.
He was a well loved, and traveled dog.
Rest in Peace our furry friend.
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