Y'all Hush: Brian. Tyler. Hiawatha.

Hey y'all -

Right. Where was I?

Ah, yes: Brian and Tyler's visit.

You spent a lot of time playing together in the backyard, throwing leaves at each other, which seemed to be a crazy amount of fun.

At the beginning of this year, I had to go on a work trip to Vermont. Laney, feeding on my maternal guilt, thought it would be a great time to hit me up for a trampoline. As if Vermont is where one goes to purchase such things. I told her she was crazy, and we should just concentrate on missing each other and how we can't wait to see each other, whether or not Mom comes home with an enormous piece of gymnastics equipment.

A week or so after I wrote that blog post, a big ol' cardboard box showed up on our doorstep. It weighed a ton and had no note attached. We opened it up to discover a trampoline. First, we blamed the grandparents. Only later did Brian and Tyler confess they were the ones who'd ordered it. Brian said, "I know it's like saying 'Here's 8 feet of dead grass and a broken leg, but enjoy!'" This is the kind of nonsense that can happen when two mischievous people have disposable income, a love of champagne and access to Amazon.com.

The second day of their visit, we headed over to the Idaho/Montana border to bike the Hiawatha Trail. The Hiawatha is part of the Rails to Trails system, which has converted old railroad tracks into biking trails. The Hiawatha Trail is 15 miles of downhill that goes through old railroad tunnels, over trestle bridges and through some of the most beautiful country you're liable to see anywhere. To hear your grandfather Philip tell it, it's 15 miles uphill through snow and you have to battle a moose with your bare hands if you want to make it out alive. This is why the editor of Outside magazine is not a southerner. We can't be trusted.

It was a beautiful day on the trail:

Laney insisted on bringing along her Dora bike - the one with the training wheels - to ride a portion of the trail all by herself. Y'all, I cannot tell you what slow going that was. All of the adults were riding their bikes in a little "S" formation to keep from falling off.

The tunnels on the trail are no joke. One of them is a mile long and completely dark, so everyone has to wear a headlamp and have a flashlight attached to their bike.

One cannot help but make "Light at the end of the tunnel" jokes.

As I was coming out of one of the tunnels, I thought, "I bet we could use this tunnel to take some funny silhouette pictures," and I was right:

So here's the thing with me and biking: I'm not very good at it. I mean, I'm capable, but it's not my strong suit. Usually what happens is I see some kind of obstacle in the road - and it could be a 2-inch tall rock - and I fixate on it. "That rock could be the death of me," I think. And I stare at the rock as it comes closer, and I think about how much it would stink if I hit the rock and fell off my bike. And the next thing you know, my butt is on the ground and I'm looking up at the clouds with torn pants and a bloody knee and man-oh-man, I hate that &@%#*# rock. Basically, I'm using "The Secret," that stupid "visualize your future" crap, but to make all my visualized injuries come true. So yeah, I fell.

Every once in a while, though, I'm able to kid myself that I'm an outdoorsy, adventurous kind of gal. This usually doesn't end well. I remember once when I lived in LA, my friend Karen and I hiked all the way up the steepest trail at Runyon Canyon, scrambling in the sagebrush, grabbing hold of various cacti, etc. We arrived at the top completely exhausted and laid down next to the trail, panting for air. But we had done it! No one was more rugged than us! ...And then the actor Scott Bakula jogged past us, trailed by his son's Cub Scout troop. If I remember correctly, Karen and I went and had a beer to celebrate how rugged we are not. Same thing happened on the Hiawatha. I had recovered from my tumble and was thinking I was the coolest thing around - no one can bike better / faster / cooler than me... And then I was passed by an entire extended family of Hutterite women who were doing the trail better / faster / cooler than me in ankle-length dresses.

They are also probably not scared of chickens like I am, so they win.

Hagen also sustained a minor injury on this trip. Turns out there's a little hole in the side of his bike trailer, and he stuck his arm through it, to feel the wheel. He got a big-time abrasion on the back of his wrist, and cried about it for a minute, until Laney said, "I'll cuddle you up, Hagen." And they rode the rest of the way down the mountain, snuggled in the bike trailer.