I had such a relaxing Thanksgiving that I took only one photo the whole weekend. And actually, I didn't even take the photo. I merely handed my camera to someone and had them take it. So for this Thanksgiving post I had to scrounge photos off my friends Facebook pages. But I figured that since they tagged me in their Thanksgiving photos, it was fair play to grab them for my blog post.
For a long time our Thanksgiving celebrations were basically like the scene from Norman Rockwell's famous painting, minus me sporting a frilly white apron. Clean white linens, Wedgwood dishes, and expertly folded napkins have slowly vanished from our Thanksgiving repertoire. I confess it's rather shocking how easily my culinary passions were thrown aside for such an unlikely alternative.
These days, Thanksgiving dinner means gathering around plastic folding tables and eating from paper plates printed with fall motifs. In fact, I don't even remember putting out napkins this year! (I'm suddenly a little alarmed.)
For several Novembers we've traded in the home-front for the beach-front and tried to camp out at the same spot each year in what's become known among our little Quad Squad as "Thanksgiving Point".
To pull this sort of Thanksgiving caper off there's some serious logistics and maneuvering involved. The first stop is pulling our trucks and trailers into the parking lot near the beach where we air down our tires. We purposely give ourselves flat tires. Apparently this gives you more traction. And traction is definitely what you need to get out of the parking lot and into our campsite.
Now that we've got 10 flat tires we're ready to make a run at "Thanksgiving Point". This is when you stomp your foot down on your vehicle's accelerator and attempt to tow both the truck and trailer through the sand--all while maintaining a light enough approach to keep the contents inside the trailer's cupboards from flying off the shelves.
The goal is to reach "Thanksgiving Point" in hopes of setting up the perfect camp site right there on the sand. In years past we've hauled our trailers in to find our little jewel of a campsite either flooded or taken by some other campers who caught wind of our totally secluded campsite, but this year it was all ours!
All four trailers look neatly parked in this photo but it really takes some doing to get everyone parked, leveled, and unpacked. But once we're in, we're home for the weekend. You'll know we've successfully set up camp when you here us fire up the generators, gas up the quads, and get our motorcycle gear on. Miles and miles of dunes await. This is basically what we do for the rest of our stay...we ride...
This year Connor did some smooth talking and got Severin's parents to let him come out with us. Here's the one picture I mustered up enough ambition to have taken. I thought a picture of Sev looking ready to roll on a family ride would be a nice touch to send to his family on Thanksgiving...and to help document that their son hadn't broken any bones so far.
And the whole group enjoying a little welcome sunshine.
But for most of the weekend it rained--no make that poured, so we didn't ride as much as we normally do. But I was content to sit back and read and watch movies all weekend and prepare for a grand Thanksgiving meal.
It was about this time I noticed a peculiar pattern has emerged at our Dunesgiving: We've been getting more and more lax about our meal preparations. Everything used to be homemade. Last year I skipped making fresh rolls and just got the expensive store bought kind to save me some time. This year I was even more lazy. I made boxed mashed potatoes and another family served up stove-top stuffing. A serious decline. But really, not so bad when I realized how little time I spent this year cooking and how much time I spent reading.
The one tradition I haven't slacked on is my quirky need to bring a little civility to the dunes. Seriously, when you find yourself setting out your Thanksgiving buffet table on a talegate, there's been a serious decline in your life.
Because I have this fear that Campouts and tailgates might begin to creep into ALL our other holidays I live with a small degree of panic that suddenly you'll find the Skillmans selling the family dinner table in order to buy more camp chairs just in time for Christmas or Easter! So, in order to keep from crossing that fine line between camping out for one little holiday to living full-time in a trailer and eating EVERY meal on paper plates (can you picture us with mullets?), I have decided that there must be some small gesture at our little Thanksgiving feast that reminds us of the finer things.
This is why I bring my garden shears to the dunes each year. I grab a motorcycle boot and fill it full of flora and fauna. Everyone in camp thinks I'm crazy but I believe we're all just a few paper plates and plastic forks away from becoming Wal-Mart greeters. So as long as I'm camping out on a holiday, there will be a little decorum.
So another Thanksgiving celebrated. This one more relaxing than ever. I hardly cooked, hardly cleaned, hardly rode quads even. I just sat around all weekend and flipped through InStyle Magazine catching up on, of all things, the latest fashions--all while I was wearing my motorcycle gear (there's a conflict of interest for you).
And while I don't think Norman Rockwell would have based any of his paintings on our little holiday tradition, it sure has become the stuff great memories are made of.
During our weekend at the dunes, one of our fellow campers who shall remain nameless because I do not have very kind words toward him at the moment, encouraged Chloe to take his son's quad out for a test drive:
What may have seemed like a nice gesture turned the rest of the weekend into a disaster. Because when Chloe eventually had to hop back on her own quad, she quickly declared that her bike had suddenly become totally inadequate for her needs--a difference she would have been completely oblivious to if a certain somebody hadn't loaned her their kid's quad in the first place.
From that moment on, when she would ride her own quad, she would suddenly stop and do these strange vexing postures to publicly demonstrate her frustration with the thing's inability to keep up with her growing skills.
I think If it were possible to do yoga on a quad, I could actually name her poses...
This one I'd call the "downward facing sob":
and this one the "Seated Sky Sulk":
Now the only conversation our 10-year old daughter wanted to talk about on our trip back home was the subject of getting a new quad so she can do "more hill climbing". Apparently she's forgotten she just recently moved up from a 60cc to her red 80cc. Now she's fixated on making the leap to a 250 four-stroke.
What happened to the days when all Chloe really cared about was was having a "pretty" motocross outfit with a matching pink helmet? Those demands were cheaper to satisfy.
And, as for our "friend" who so generously shared his stuff with my daughter...he will be spitefully cut out of our group photo and won't be invited back until he can learn NOT to share his toys with my kids anymore.
Check out the size difference: The kid in the very front of this next picture--he's on the bike she wants...Chloe's on her quad right after him. Click on the picture and check out the size differences...of both the size of the two kids and the size of their quads. Hmmmm. Can you guess which one may not belong with the other?
...but there's not much you can do to change the mind of a very focused girl who's gotten a little power hungry.
Connor was distracted last Sunday in anticipation of our Labor Day weekend at the Dunes. Instead of contemplating the Sabbath or even Scripture, Connor was meditating on Sand--a lesser know spiritual study.
He was hard at work sketching out this curiously vice-laden portrayal of the Dunes:
Unfortunately for us, it appears to be an exact replica of these sort of occasional weekend camp outs. I'm not sure he intended to point out some of the more deadly sins we commit during our dune trips but you will note he certainly drew a fair share of them:
He's drawn his father slothfully asleep with a book
He's got me monopolizing a friend's ipad--Greed & Envy
His brother Mitch doing ALL the hard work, while...
He drew himself avoiding ALL the hard work--more sloth
Broc golfing--a sport known for encouraging dishonesty
Mont eating M&M's: classic gluttony
and the little girls appear to be gambling in the Skillman trailer
He also alludes to the crime of stealing, albeit by someone else NOT in our camp. Notice how he draws a long line connecting the quads. That's a chain used to prevent quad theft.
It became apparent there in that church pew that this has become the sort of scene we've etched into our young and impressionable son's memory, enough for him to draw it all its sacrilegious splendor instead of listening to a lengthy sermon against these sorts of things.
No, instead he's drawing on the back of a church program a scene we hope he'll remember long into adulthood: Those trouble times of his youth he spent at the dunes with his family, swirling about in those scandalous sand-laden scenes.
And thus the reason you'll find our family each Sunday going to church...to confess what Connor has now pointed out as our many sandy sins.
Ahhhhh the Dunes! One of our family's favorite places to play. But somehow, the weekend of adventure we plan on having is quite different than the adventures we actually experience. Which is probably why it's so much fun. You never know what unexpected adventure awaits but it's always something interesting.
Here's some Dunes for Dummies basics:
What goes down doesn't always come back up...
We spend a fair amount of time watching certain kids bombing down steep hills in mere seconds only to spend an hour or two trying to get back up the steep narrow trail. This is a good time to take your helmet off, find a shady spot to sit, and enjoy the poor child's self-inflicted tragedy.
...And sometimes what's down isn't supposed to be up.
Just ask Chloe. (yes mother, she's fine.) Some trails make it hard to keep the greasy side down and the shiny side up.
If you crash, your helmet will automatically kiss your forehead better.
Chloe sported this "kiss" streak across her forehead for an hour or so. She wore it as a badge of honor.
Two tires are better than four.
Boys will always show off.
And just because you're 12, doesn't mean you can't pull a wheelie too.
Just ask Broc. Not only is he 12, but he's smaller than Connor who's 11 and he can ride a wheelie till he runs out of gas.
Children will find it more amusing to ride on abandoned car parts over riding their expensive quad.
In this case they found a car's hood with ropes already strapped to it. Looks like they're not the first kids to ignore their good toys.
If your fellow dune rider happens to be a pilot, he will find something to fly.
Even if that means stealing a kid's kite. In this case, Chloe's. Danny "claimed" he was only trying to help her but this photo make us all suspicious.
Even the pros get stuck.
This is Brandon Sharp giving the thumbs up pretending he wasn't having trouble, but the second pic shows otherwise.
When a man has to get off his quad to get unstuck, it's humiliating. When a woman posts a picture of a man getting off his quad to get unstuck, well, that's just good blogging. (Sorry Brandon.)
Helping small children across hazards is good form.
Even at the Dunes you may have to wait in line.
This line was stalled because the guy in front ran out of gas. Someone get the tow strap.
Boys at the Dunes will coordinate their outfits.
This is Mitch's friend Matthew sporting fabulous goggles that match his jersey. Just don't point out publicly that they're all matchy-matchy or they'll totally deny it.
Boys will always try to look cool in their coordinated outfits while waiting for a ride to resume.
The ride to the beach is always the best.
Connor enjoying an ocean view.
Your invited guests will always be surprised to find out the ride on Sunday requires a white shirt and tie.
It's a shocker for most first-timers. Not to mention all the other riders on the dunes that see us coming and flee. They think we're undercover dune cops. Little do they know we're on our way to church. We're a dune paradox.
If your trailer advertises itself as a mobile maintenance unit, you're asking for trouble.
This is Danny needing a little roadside assistance for his mobile maintenance unit on the way back home from the dunes. Unfortunately he was prepared to maintain an aircraft, not a trailer.
It will take six guys to TRY and remove a melted tire. And two guys to watch.
We girls tried to get them to put the awning down we could sit in our camp chairs and quietly watch the commotion from the shade while we sipped on a soda. They turned us down. Bad choice. That left us with little else to do but spend our time picture taking and mocking.
And this is the hardest dune issue for many of us... If Ken Guerra isn't there at the dunes to get you unstuck...sure enough, you'll have a breakdown on the way home, a good two hours down the road, right near his house! And you'll end up calling him anyway and have him come to rescue you.
Thanks for the saws-all Ken...and for not shaming us too badly about always needing your help. It's bad Ken Karma if you ask me. This man lives to humiliate you with a tow rope.
And lastly, Anything a man defeats, he will proudly display for a trophy photo.
(Just to be perfectly clear, Danny's t-shirt says, "I love my duck." It's an Oregonian thing not a personal problem.)
Some of our favorite family adventures occur in a giant sandbox called The Dunes. We'd never even noticed this part of the Oregon Coast before our friends the Sharps lured us there six years ago, and we've been hooked ever since. Over Memorial Day weekend, we loaded up the trailer and headed out to meet up with our friends for a weekend of fun. Little did we know, we would witness a rarely seen event...the amusing defeat of a Dune Master.
From start to finish, going to the dunes is always an entertaining mix of thrills, spills, and deflated wheels. Towing heavy trailers on windy coastal roads and narrow bridges is always an adventure, but doesn't even come close to the ultimate challenge of towing what's basically a portable garage out into a precariously sandy camp site. To do this you've got to purge the vessel of it's contents, let most of the air out of the tires (Yes, that's right, purposely deflate your tires!) and with full-throttle, hit the sand like you're running from the law (in this case it would be the law of gravity). Although we had a nice wide open campsite, as you see deceptively pictured here, it was anything but easy to get into. In fact, the last time we camped here a few years back, Grampa Bear had a side-view mirror ripped off by a tree, Ken Guerra had his trailer smashed up, and Mark, as always, had to be towed in by Mont Sharp. Damage to your truck or trailer or even both are considered badges of honor out at the Dunes but no one likes to be in the awkward position of needing to be towed at the dunes, it is a great scandal among men, considered to be the ultimate dune disgrace! But, in a miraculous turn of events, this time Mark and the trailer made it through the gauntlet of sand, trees, and steep slopes unscathed and all on his own. Shockingly, it was Mont, a.k.a "The Dune Master" who got stuck. To witness such a spectacle, I must admit, was an awkward but delightful surprise. The great Mont Sharp, the Dune Master himself, the man who is always getting the Skillmans out of trouble, now in need of a tow! We tried our hardest to appear grim-faced at his precarious predicament but inside we relished every bit of it!
Check out this very narrow passage that the trailers have to thread through to get out into the camp site. This is the same tree we now call "The Can Opener" because it peeled back part of the roof of Ken's trailer. If you look close you can see the mark on the tree.
Here's how close Mont came to smashing his poor trailer into this tree.
Luckily for Mont, his troubles only resulted in the loss of a vent cover you see here.It was scraped off by a tree on the other side. A little hot glue and it should be like new, right?
Despite the hardships Mont suffered getting into our campsite, and the miraculous ease at which the Skillmans enjoyed threading though, once we get settled into camp it's time to do what we came for...RIDE! We've got all kinds of rides: family rides, night rides, a ride for just the wives, the ride to the beach ride, and even an "adults ride the little kids quads and hurt themselves ride, but the fiercest of all them is what we call "The Boys Ride". These rides are strictly men-only for good reason. The pace at which they ride is for the mentally insane. When a new male comes to camp who's a first-time rider we warn them that this might not be the best introductory tour of dune riding and caution them against going for this ride. Most men can't summon the courage to suffer the humiliation of admitting their amateur riding status because it would require them to stay back at camp with a bunch of girls. Amidst the intoxicating delirium of testosterone, every new rider will suit up and head out for the boys ride keeping their inexperience to themselves. Unfortunately for them, their little secret isn't kept for long as they all too quickly show back up at camp having gotten lost, scared, or in need of stitches-and sometimes all three.
Sometime during the weekend a couples ride will take place. Here's Deanne and I all ready to go (and yes mom, we wear our helmets). We have become a bit weary about couples rides these days, they sound like a great time to take a leisurely ride out in the sand with your spouse, but this is NOT the case. Deanne and I were a little slow to discover the REAL truth behind the "couples ride". It is actually a conspiracy of the most diabolical kind. We wives mistakenly thought it was a sweet gesture by the husbands to go with their wives on a fun outing without the kids. This is not the case at all. Our discovery came after a particularly grueling ride that seemed treacherously fast and our having to stand on the pegs almost the entire time. When the boys finally let us stop for a little mid-ride breather, I was out of breath as if I'd been sprinting and when I finally caught my breath I said, "Man you guys are going really fast, I can barely keep up!" Out of the corner of my eye I see the husbands hiding devious grins. Deanne and I looked at them, then at each other and wondered what was going on. It was then they admitted the real truth behind their scheme. Apparently, according to Mont himself, the couples ride is designed to "increase the caliber of the wives riding skills". So much for the notion that they simply enjoyed our company!
Thank goodness for the family rides. They're a little less "testosterone induced" although each ride seems to increase in speed as the weekend progresses.
Some hill climbing.
In between rides we often find inventive ways to pass the time. Here's a game of sand baseball. A little caution here, as your glove will never be totally rid of sand once you play on this field, nor will your shoes or ears.
We also like to golf since you only need to bring your nine iron, since it's just one giant sand trap out there...
Next came barrel racing, a new sport brought to the dunes by a few bored racers amongst our group. Of course, you'll notice our version of barrel racing is done around flags and not barrels, but calling it "flag racing" apparently doesn't pass the "testosterone test".
Here's Chloe giving it a try...she actually made better time than her own mother. I'd like to think my eight year old out-raced me because her quad is a lot smaller than mine but I think the real reason is that her quad REALLY IS a lot smaller (it couldn't be that she was actually faster than me, could it?).
Mont gives it a try or two or three...four...five...six times, and still doesn't qualify for the best time! The Dune Master, already humbled by needing a tow now loses to a 16-year old kid. On his first attempt Mitchell came out the clear winner...that is until Mark, determined to outrace his son, repeatedly tried over and over until he made the best time (not bad for a forty-something year old guy on his 12th try).
Once the winner was declared, I captured this amazing footage of Mont the Dune Master (that's like a Jedi Knight of the Dunes)and his ultimate surrender. Be sure to play it over and over like we do, because this is rare footage.
As if things couldn't get more humiliating, Mont also had to be towed back out of the dunes. May I add, victoriously, that this is the first time the Skillmans didn't need a tow at all. (Que the video!)
