Worst Vacation...Ever

I have had my share of shitty vacations. The one that springs to mind most often is the trip I took to Colorado in the summer of 1994. It had become a tradition in my family that either my father or my mother would accompany my brother and I to family camp at Sky Ranch. Sky Ranch was a church camp near the Estes Park area and sat at about 9,000 ft. I know that the term "church camp" sounds really lame, but it was actually really cool and run by a pretty liberal organization. And they didn't force the church aspect down anyone's throats, you could come and go as you pleased and basically make the whole experience as much or as little about God as you wanted. I myself have never been that into organized religion, but I have to say that being up in the mountains of Colorado with no smog, skies so clear at night you felt you could actually touch the stars, and no real intrusion by civilization for miles made me feel the closest to God I have ever felt. We loved it. Which made the trip in 94 all the more disappointing.

My brother and I had looked forward to this trip all year. A week of away from TV, traffic, and the hustle and bustle of the city. A week filled with hikes to Cirque Meadow, backpacking, communing with nature, and possibly even white water rafting on the Poudre River (which the following summer would try to kill us, but that's another story). So, imagine our disappointment when after driving all the way to Fort Collins, and staying in a hotel for the night, we are awakened by a phone call from my mom. For many other people this would probably not be that ominous, however, since my parents had divorced only a couple of years prior, well...let's just say my brother and were quickly exchanging worried glances. We could only hear my dad's side of the conversation, which basically consisted entirely of incredulous statements like "You're joking," disbelieving declarations of "No," and even I think at least one "Jerryl, stop kidding around." The fact that my father thought that my mom would call us on the morning we were supposed to go to Sky Ranch, just to play a practical joke on him really shows how far their relationship had fallen. Once my dad finally came to the realization that it was indeed not a joke my mother was playing, he ultimately thanked her for calling and hung up the phone.

There was an excruciatingly long silence. Finally, my dad looked up from where he had put the phone in it's cradle and told us the bad news. Sky Ranch was on fire. Maybe not the lodge, or even the camp itself, but there had been a lightning strike in the surrounding woods. The summer had been incredibly dry in Colorado and the strike had started a fire that was currently burning out of control. The camp had been evacuated and no one could make the trip up the mountain.

So, that should have spelled the end of our trip. Which, in all actuality, would have been fine with me. Yeah, I had been looking forward to this all year, but as far as I knew, the camp was gone. Nothing I could do about it. Besides, I had just started dating Megan that summer and if I wasn't going to Sky Ranch, I would much rather be hanging out with her.

Unfortunately, things didn't work out that way. My decided to 'salvage' the vacation by taking us to all the places he loved in Colorado. Which, to my dad's credit, in theory sounds like a worthy idea. However, keep in mind that my brother and I had just learned our favorite place in the whole world was being destroyed and I had a cute girlfriend waiting for me back home. So, in short, it would have taken a miracle to save our little family vacation.

There was no miracle. The resulting week became known as the "Trip from Hell." It basically consisted of long drives from Fort Collins to appealing destinations, which would ultimately be deemed unsuitable by my father, who would then immediately turn around an drive back. I'm not exaggerating either. We drove something like 3 hours to the Royal Gorge only to turn around after having just long enough to stretch our legs because it was now too expensive (to this day my dad still refers to it as "The Royal Gouge"). We drove even longer to Cripple Creek only to drive right through. That's right, we didn't even stop. It had added casinos and was now deemed "too commercial." The entire trip was like this. In fact, it was so bad, I could not keep the refrain from Sloop John B. out of my head. The words "This is the worst trip, I've ever been on" never seemed more appropriate.

That is until last week. Yes, my friends I actually had a worse vacation. And while it may not have been a trip, per se, it was a vacation. A vacation in the sense that I took 4 days off from work to, well...work. Yup, I busted my ass from Tuesday 'til Sunday doing various tasks that included moving everything from furniture to boxes, packing and unpacking, cutting carpet, and filling up a dumpster. It sucked. If before I felt like Sisyphus, then this last week I felt like Heracles with his 12 labors (Hey, at least I didn't have to kill a Hydra, that really would have sucked.)

The worst part is that I feel like I totally cheated myself out of good vacation days. I've really felt like I've needed a vacation for some time now. Just some time to relax and kind of clear my head for a couple of days after all of this nonstop working that I've been doing since we bought the house. And instead I spent my vacation working. On the house.

Sigh.

My dad pretty much summed it up when he called me at work yesterday "So, you're back at work. What, are you taking a break from your vacation?"

It's pretty sad when that's true.