Category: Away we go

We stayed three nights in Lake Placid, and the time just flew by. The first day was burned up by the drive from hell, and the last day — well, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Our extended family convened for breakfast each morning at Charlie’s Restaurant, adjacent to the hotel. (If you go, by the way, I highly recommend eschewing the in-room coffee for the coffee shop in the Alpine Mall attached to the hotel. Great coffee and a lovely balcony view of the sunrise over Mirror Lake. I have happy memories of waking up before the rest of my crew and creeping out for an early-morning coffee, consumed with greedy unencumbered glee in the morning’s early light.) Our challenge was finding suitable entertainment for six adults and five kids ranging in age from six years to six months, one of whom napped in the afternoon and one of whom had a raging case of diarrhea. Did I mention the forecast was for rain with a side of thunderstorms?

On the first day, my dad suggested a trip to the top of nearby Whiteface Mountain. You can drive up, or you can take a cable-car ride up. We opted for the latter.

The gondola brings you to the top of “Little Whiteface,” the secondary peak of Whiteface Mountain. At the top, there’s an observation deck where you can look down on Lake Placid some 10 or so miles away.

It’s just a short little scramble up the bedrock from the observation deck to the peak. (We’d brought our jackets for protection against the rain, but it was a good 10 degrees cooler on the mountain than at the base, and the day only warmed up to 70F in the first place!)

Simon found a penny at the top of the mountain, and Granny told him to wish for sunshine on the way down. Turns out it was a lucky sort of penny, and by the time we’d made it back to the hotel, the intermittent drizzle had given way to the threat of sunshine. We made the most of the break in the weather and spent a few hours playing on the beach at the hotel. The boys and I even went for a little canoe ride — a much calmer and shorter tour than our last canoe trip!

The next day promised yet more rain, so we opted for some indoor adventures. We headed to Avalanche Adventures, which promised indoor and outdoor mini-golf as well as inflatable bouncy houses, a climbing wall and indoor “caverns” for exploring.

Kids (of all ages) had a great time!

The intermittent drizzle continued through the afternoon, but the big boys had fun with a hotel-sponsored “make yer own tie-dye t-shirt” craft while Lucas napped in his car seat in the bathroom with the exhaust fan on and Brooke chose Granny’s lap for a snooze.

We rounded out the afternoon with some shopping on Main Street. Beloved was delighted with the candy store, the kids bought new Webkinz, and I indulged in the Gap outlet store. Ah, nothing like a little retail therapy to shelter your soul from the thunderstorms.

We had great luck with dinners in Lake Placid as well. Aside from the fact that the woman in the little pizza joint we walked into on the first night snickered as if we were joking when we asked for a table for eleven, we had great service and great food the whole trip. If you go, you simply must try The Lake Placid Pub and Brewery on Mirror Lake Drive. Best nachos I’ve ever had, bar none! My only regret is that I didn’t get the chance to try their house specialty, make-yer-own ‘smores served right at your table. And for lunch, you simply can’t beat the sandwiches and the friendly service at the Saranac Sourdough Bakery. If we’d found them earlier, I would have eaten there every day. They have a home-made slaw with zucchini and other fresh veggies that’s making my mouth water just remembering it! In a lull, the owner wandered out from behind the counter and was nice enough to comment on how well-behaved the boys were — something I desperately needed to hear at that point. She mustn’t have been looking when Simon spilled his lemonade all over the table.

Next up — the trip home, by way of the North Pole…

We chose Lake Placid as our extended-family vacation destination because my parents have enjoyed visits there the past two summers. On their recommendation we booked rooms at the Golden Arrow Lakeside Resort. Fantastic hotel! It couldn’t be more convenient, or more picturesque, and the staff are friendly and helpful. It’s in the heart of Lake Placid, with the main drag on one side and the Olympic Centre just a few steps away on the other side.

The best part, though, is that it backs onto Mirror Lake, and the first-floor rooms all have walk-out access to the grassy yard, mere steps to a white, sandy beach with roped off swimming area. They also have free peddle-boats and canoes, and a family of resident ducks and fuzzy ducklings.

(I was particularly fond of the yellow duckling, which struck me as the “ugly duckling” from the story. We kept speculating on why he was yellow when his nest-mates were mottled brown, and then wondered why cartoon and stuffie ducklings are always yellow when most ducklings are not. Such are the pressing issues of a well-spent vacation!)

We stayed in one of their specialty “fireplace rooms,” (scroll down to the “Whiteface”) which gave us two queen-sized beds and a little sitting area with a pull-out sofa and armchair arranged around a fireplace. There’s a glass door that walks out to a small private patio, and the lake is maybe 50 feet away. They also have an indoor pool with two hot tubs and a sectioned-off baby pool. I can’t tell you how much I already miss our after-dinner swim!

This is the back of the hotel and the beach (the sun is shining because it’s our last day and we are just about to leave!):

And the view. The view!! The only good thing I have to say about three days of rain is that when it lets up just as the sun is setting, you can get some pretty spectacular sunset photos. One of my favourite memories of Lake Placid is prowling around the beach after dinner, chasing gorgeous shots with my Nikon. Like these:

I’m already planning our return visit in my head.

Next, out and about in Lake Placid with five kids under seven…

Just got back from four days with my extended family in Lake Placid, New York. We went with my parents and my brother and his wife and their two kids. It was a — hmm, what’s the word I’m looking for? It was a memorable vacation. For a few of the right reasons, and a few too many of the wrong reasons.

This was our drive down to Lake Placid:

• A stomach virus has been working it’s way through the family in the days leading up to the vacation. It comprises fever and wickedly painful stomach cramps with serious diarrhea. The morning we leave, one of the boys leaks through his underwear and leaves a poop stain on my 10-day old couch. We stop at a drug store on the way out of town to buy some overnight (thus oversized) pull-ups for the four hour drive. Just in case.
• The weather forecast is for rain, rain, rain, and then for a change of pace, rain. The skies are grey and heavy with complaint as we leave town.
• We’re not even out of the city limits of Ottawa when my iPod seizes up. The one I bought to replace the one that was stolen. Seriously, Steve Jobs must hate me or something.
• We make it across the border okay, and begin to follow Google Maps’ instructions. It tells us to turn left and go east when my intuition tells us we should be turning right and going west, but we follow it because we have no other directions. After another turn, I ask Beloved if it feels to him like we’re doubling back. After about 20 minutes, it tells us to take a non-existent right turn. We follow the tiny county road we’re on, hoping to stumble out onto a main route that’s marked on my four-state New York, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine map left over from last summer. After another half hour of increasingly agitated driving, we spill out onto Route 37, and two minutes later we’re once again at the bridge where we crossed over from Canada an hour before. We’ve just done an hour-long circle.
• By the time we stop and buy a new, more detailed map and get on our way, Lucas is starting to get fidgety in his car seat. He cries for the best part of the next two hours, but by this time we’re into Adirondack State Park and there are precious few spaces to stop.
• He finally cries himself to sleep after reaching a fever-pitch of hysteria. About twenty minutes later, barely enough time for me to unclench my jaws, I am greeted by the sounds of retching from the back seat. Simon, always a tad motion sensitive, has awoken from a nap and the twisting and dipping mountain roads have unsettled his stomach. He barfs all over himself, the back seat, his backpack full of car diversions and his new Webkinz.
• As I’m cleaning out the back seat, I notice that we’ve pulled over beside a lovely little bay. At first, I think “At least the boys have some nice scenery to look at while I clean up the barf.” I quickly realize that it’s not so much a lovely little bay as a bug-infested swamp. Biting bugs.
• Props to the Huggies people: diaper wipes do an admirable job of cleaning up barfy back seats. Note to the Dodge Caravan people: you might want to consider some sort of leak-proofing system for the back seat, so liquids spilled (or barfed) into the back seat don’t leak into the trunk. I’m just sayin’. And I’m sending the bill for the detailing of my van to the Google people. If not for the one-hour detour, we’d’ve been in Lake Placid by the time Simon lost his lunch.
• We’re finally on the home stretch about 15 miles out of Lake Placid when traffic comes to a dead halt. We don’t move for about 45 minutes. We’ll find out later that a traffic accident has stopped traffic in both directions.
• While we’re stuck in traffic, I call ahead to my folks to let them know we’ve been delayed. We find out that the people occupying the first-floor walk-out-to-the-beach room we have reserved have failed to leave, and for the first night of our three-night stay, we’ll have to stay on the second floor.
• We finally pull into Lake Placid a little more than six hours after we left Ottawa, two hours longer than the trip should have taken.

That was the worst of it. Thank goodness! More to come…

Three tanks of gas: $240
DVD player to replace the one that died 35 minutes into a 20 hour road trip: $129
Upgrade hotel room to a two-room suite for two nights (invaluable!): $80
Toll highway to bypass Hwy 401 rush hour traffic (worth every penny): $26

Five day road trip to take the boys to see both sets of cousins:

Priceless.

We’d originally been offered** a three-night stay at Smugglers’ Notch Resort, but due to the end of the season, the beginning of the school year and Beloved’s and my work schedules, we could only take advantage of two nights. It’s too bad, because there was a list of things as long as my arm that I would have liked to do, and even a few things that we’d planned to do that we simply didn’t get around to doing. No massage (sigh). No nature walk or hike, which might not have been a bad thing in the long run, because Simon was still fried the morning after our canoe trip and wanted to be carried everywhere. They had other way-cool stuff that I would have loved to try on site (like geo-caching!) and other stuff nearby (like outlet malls!)

Our last day, we had a breakfast buffet at the Morse Mountain Grill before heading off to fulfill Tristan’s dearest wish of a round of putt-putt (so easy to please, that one) along side a babbling brook in the shade of a gorgeous late-summer morning.

It would have been idyllic, if it weren’t for a potty-training accident that neccesitated an unplanned trek back across the resort for clean pants and a bloody knee requiring excessive kisses and a band-aid. Both injustices were redeemed by a visit to the three-tier pool and waterfall at Notchville Park.

Did I mention that in all the pools we visited, the water temperature must have averaged 90F or more? The air was on the cool side, and I actually kept standing up to get a bit of a breeze; the water was so warm it was making me sweat! Not that I minded. I hate cold water!

After a leisurely couple of hours in the pools, we reluctantly dried off and stopped for a late lunch on our way out of the resort. The drive home was far more pleasant than the drive up, and shorter by almost a full hour. That might have been due to the fact that Simon slept almost the entire trip, or the fact that we chose a smarter route through Montreal. Our DVD player died yet again (that’s three times in three trips!) and so Tristan was left largely to stare out the window for the three hours on the Canadian side of the border crossing, but even he seemed relaxed and content.

(Although I’ve already posted a lot of them, you can see the full set of our weekend pictures on my Flickr account, by the way.)

It’s hard not to be effusive about a free vacation. And I really don’t want you to think that the glowing review I’ve been giving Smuggs is entirely about the free bit – even though you do know I love me some free stuff. I don’t want to come across as a corporate shill, nor to have you to think I’m raving simply because the trip was free; in all honesty, we loved the place and were surprised by how affordable a vacation a “resort” can offer.

Beloved and I were doing the math in the car on the way home, already planning our next visit to Smuggs. You can stay for five nights a two-bedroom condo for $1750US (early summer rate), and that includes the day camp for the kids, access to the pools, and a bunch of free activities. With the vast amount of room in the 2bd condo, we could invite my folks, or even my brother and his family along to share the condo with us. Not only does that mean splitting the costs, but the whole time we were there, we were saying how much fun it would be to share the adventure with someone.

We must have done a good job evangelizing the place to Granny and Papa Lou when we got home, too. I could see my Dad’s wheels spinning at the thought of his own Segway tour, and he opined that since we’ve pretty much outgrown our free camping weekend cottage at the KOA in the Thousand Islands, this might be just the place for our usual multi-generational extended family trip next summer. Cuz if you’re going to travel with two young boys and a newborn, it’s good to have back-up!

Thanks again to Karen and Barbara at Smuggs for making this trip (and extended narrative) possible. We hope to see you again next summer!

(Disclosure: I was offered a complimentary visit to Smugglers’ Notch Resort after Smugg’s PR folks read my Ottawa to Bar Harbor posts earlier this summer. Our condo and all activities were complimentary but in no way conditional on a favourable review.)

I was a little bit anxious leaving Simon in the day camp all day while Beloved and I enjoyed a day at Smuggs on our own. Partly, I was nervous about leaving him on his own, when he’s used to doing everything side-by-side with Tristan. Moreso, though, I was worried about his newly acquired potty training habit.

Of course, I needn’t have worried. In fact, when Beloved and I puttered through the Village Green on our Segway tour, we spied him and his daycamp compatriots on a little expedition of some sort. He seemed to be perfectly content, and I was greatly reassured.

I won’t belabour our dinner experience, except to say that the deli at which we intended to eat was closed and so we did the pizza and pasta thing for a second night in a row. Our window of time shrank through various bathroom shenanigans (I swear, between being 18 weeks pregnant and the two boys, I don’t think there was a bathroom in the place that we didn’t grace with our presence several times over three days) we had just enough time to head back into Jeffersonville to hook up with our scheduled evening activity, the evening wildlife watch canoe trip.

In retrospect, this was an error in judgement on my part. In my enthusiasm to enjoy our short vacation to the fullest, I may have overestimated the boys’ (ahem, everybody’s) capabilities for a busy day. After being on the go all day at day camp, Simon was nearly falling asleep over his pizza at dinner. Tristan had a bona fide meltdown on the way to the car, insisting tearily that he didn’t want to go anywhere else, he just wanted to go home.

As I suspected he might, he did calm down once we got in the car, and was raring to go by the time we parked the car outside the canoe outfitters. Our hosts and guides for the evening trip were two young fellows with the most distinct Southie accents I’ve ever encountered outside the movies, sounding for all the world like Will and Chuckie from Good Will Hunting. We truly had no idea what to think as rather than simply loading into a canoe on site, we were herded into a shuttle van pulling several canoes and driven waaaaaaaaay upstream. I’m not sure how far we went exactly, but I’m sure it must have been somewhere near the Canadian border for all the time it took us to paddle back (thankfully!) downstream to our waiting cars.

The 300 mile voyageur imitation wasn’t even the worst of it. As we pushed off from shore, the guides suggested we remain quiet in our canoes lest we frighten away the wildlife and ruin the trip for the rest of our fellow canoers. Seriously. I have a three- and five-year old in my canoe who have both already vastly exceeded their daily alotment of patience and cooperation, and you want me to keep them quiet? I can’t keep them quiet on the best of days.

In the way that only three-year olds can do, Simon interpreted this instruction in his own unique way. For the entire TWO AND A HALF HOURS that we paddled relentlessly down that river, Simon did not stop talking once. He spoke, he babbled, he sang, he bellowed. I shushed him, he whispered for about eleven seconds, and went back to chattering in his usual “outside” voice. I kid you not, that child uttered more syllables in that one evening than he has cumulatively to date in his entire lifetime.

Aside from the constant stream-of-consciousness commentary, Simon was also reluctant to heed our constant exhortations to stop lurching over to the side of the canoe to peer over the edge. Tristan did better, sitting rather calmly and well-centred in the canoe bottom for most of the ride, but that left us perhaps less prepared for the few times he did shift or turn, bringing us precariously close to tipping on more than one occassion.

(On that note, you’ll note that photos are conspicuously absent from this post. Beloved opined, rather vocally, that the best place for the new digital SLR was safely hidden in the car and not, say, at the bottom of the Lamoille River in Vermont. Seeing as how we didn’t actually see *any* wildlife, aside from the bunny rabbit that Tristan was petting in the parking lot, we didn’t miss too many photo opportunities. There was one gorgeous old covered bridge that we passed under, and some ruggedly lovely spots… but none worth betting the seaworthiness of our canoe against our ability to remain upright and out of the water.)

Dusk was settling quickly into official nighttime by the time we approached the landing where we’d parked, and both boys were done like dinner. I had hardly finished exhaling my sigh of relief before the guides motioned us to paddle over to the side of the river 200 yards away from the endgame. They told us that we had one last “tricky spot” through which we’d have to manouever, a bit of white water (!) with rocks to the right (!) and a giant submerged tree stump (!) to the left. Had I had any energy left whatsoever, I might have laughed. They lectured us for a few minutes on exactly how to navigate this final injustice, including how to orient your body should you be tipped into the drink, and I figured for sure we were all going swimming. To the boys’ credit, they must have read something in either the whites of my eyes or my white-knuckled grip on my paddle. Regardless, they were nearly still – and blissfully silent – as we shot the rapids with nary a splash.

Final analysis? Our next vacation needs more Segway and less canoe. I’ll bet if the voyageurs had Segways, they would have forgone the canoes, too.

Coming up next: putt-putt, pools and a shameless plug.

(Disclosure: I was offered a complimentary visit to Smugglers’ Notch Resort after Smugg’s PR folks read my Ottawa to Bar Harbor posts earlier this summer. Our condo and all activities were complimentary but in no way conditional on a favourable review.)

Although I’d heard of Smugglers’ Notch and knew it was a ski resort in Vermont, I had no idea it was a year-round family-oriented resort. Even after reading the website and brochures, I was still surprised at how much the resort tries to be a truly “family” destination, with something for everybody.

Part of our vacation package** included day camp for the kids. It seemed a little strange to be sending them off to spend the day without us! I was a little worried, too, about sending each boy off with a separate, age-appropriate group as they’ve been together all summer long and I was worried especially Simon would balk about being left alone with strangers.

I needn’t have worried. Both boys went off to join their respective groups without a backward glance. Frankly, I think they might have been glad to get away from each other, and from us as well. Beloved and I, too, quickly adapted to our child-free status with a leisurely breakfast bagel at the Green Mountain Deli (yum!) before heading off to join our Segway class and tour.

Ahhh, the Segway. I *loved* the Segway! There were five of us in a little tour group, one other set of parents from New Jersey and a girl of maybe 17 or so. (You have to be 12 years and older to join the Segway tours.) We had a quick orientation session with Bruce, the owner and operator of the Segway tour at Smuggs, who also runs a program for the day camp specializing in video production. (Bruce is one cool guy!)

Although I’d heard of the Segways and seen them on TV, I’d never seen one in person. They’re way wicked cool, and more fun than I had even imagined! The Segway has an internal gyroscope that keeps you balanced on its two wheels, so when you first step on it, you can feel it shifting back and forth as it searches for and accomodates your centre of gravity. You go forward by leaning forward, and slow down and stop by leaning backwards. (You can read more about them on the official Segway website.) In the “first generation” Segways that we were using, you turn by twisting one handgrip, but the newer ones you lean to the direction you want to turn. They also have four different keys that allow you a progressively higher speed as you get more comfortable with the machine. After a just a couple of minutes’ practice, we were already on the second key, which allowed us to go a breezy 6 miles per hour, and we set off on our tour.

I kid you not, I took to that thing like a duck to water. Me, the ungraceful klutz with the bulging belly to offset my already precarious centre of gravity! (Fryman, stop laughing. It’s TRUE!) I was a natural on that Segway, zipping along happily at maximum speed at the head of the group while the others trailed behind, searching for their own personal comfort zone. At one point, cackling madly as I zipped down a trail, I turned back to throw a glowing grin over my shoulder at Beloved and had to laugh at his rather pinched facial expression, which clearly showed a markedly lower level of enthusiasm. (But as we moved along the tour, I could see him quickly acclimatizing to it.)

Bruce took us on a six mile loop (across more than 1200 feet of elevation changes!) around the outskirts and various communities of the resort. By the time we were on our final key, the Segway’s top speed was a peppy 12 miles per hour, which I figure converts to at least 90 km per hour or so, based on the wind in my face and my relative exhileration. Okay, so not quite that fast, but I was traveling at a darn good clip when I opened that puppy up on a nice straight stretch!

Bruce would stop us every now and then to allow everyone to catch up, and to chat with us about everything from the philosophy behind the Segways to the history of Smuggs and the mountains around us. (The stopping was as much fun as the going. Rather than just resting in place, you can rock the Segway gently back and forth, spin in place, or make happy little loops around your husband and his Segway.) Bruce did a nice job of tying the environmental message of a sustainable resource like the Segway with the environmentally protectionist philosophy of the resort. Frankly, he was just a personable and interesting guy to spend some time with, Segways or no.

By the time the tour wrapped up, Beloved and I were both on a wicked adrenaline rush. Late for our lunch date with Karen, part of Smuggs’ PR team, we chattered excitedly about maybe arranging for a second tour that afternoon, or ditching the kids the next day so we could rent a couple of Segways for an hour or two. It was that much fun.

I don’t know if everyone at Smuggs is as friendly and personable as are Karen and Bruce, but they sure make a great couple of ambassadors for the resort. Our lunch with Karen stretched on for a leisurely two hours as we chatted about Smuggs, blogging, family vacations and the world at large. She told us that as a ski resort, it’s been around for more than 50 years, but in recent years has really focused on both its summer and winter appeal as a destination for families. I was surprised to hear that Smuggs was around 2/3 capacity on the weekend we were there, because it had a wonderfully spacious and uncrowded feel to it, and the only place we ever waited in line was to check in or out.

After our lazy lunch with Karen, we hiked back up the mountain the short distance to our condo – just enough of a hike to wind us on our full bellies. We had enough time for a quick nap – ahh, what a life! – back at the condo before we had to pick up the boys from daycamp. I wish we’d had more time to enjoy the hiking and walks that Smuggs offers. We simply ran out of weekend before we got to do half the things we would have liked to try.

Coming up next: the canoe trip that seemed like a good idea at the time.

**Disclosure: I was offered a complimentary visit to Smugglers’ Notch Resort after Smugg’s PR folks read my Ottawa to Bar Harbor posts earlier this summer. Our condo and all activities were complimentary but in no way conditional on a favourable review.

We’re freshly back from our weekend getaway to Smugglers’ Notch Resort in Vermont.**

First of all, I’m thinking of ditching my career as a public servant and joining the professional Segway tour. What, they don’t have one? Seriously, this has been one of the best summers of my life, and the best 90 minutes of an amazing weekend during a fabulous summer may just have been those spent zipping around Smugglers’ Notch Resort on this Segway. Who knew – turns out I’m a natural! But more on that later…

We got off to a slow start. We were about an hour late leaving Ottawa, and had to turn back after 15 minutes when our first portable DVD player crapped out on us. (I think there was a short in the adapter.) So we turned around and went back to get our backup DVD player, which crapped out on us outside of Montreal, about 1/3 of the way into the trip. Then we chose Autoroute 20 instead of Autoroute 40 to get through Montreal, which I’m sure added another 45 minutes to our trip.

Despite the fact that I had ground my molars into a fine powder by the time we reached the Canada-US border, the rest of the trip was so gorgeous – through pastoral countryside, alongside winding streams through charming small towns and up into the Green Mountains – that I had once again achieved inner peace (or at least unclenched my jaws) by the time we arrived at Smuggs about five hours after we left.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the condo we stayed it superceded just about anything I could have possibly imagined. First of all, it was HUGE! We took one look around and almost called Granny and Papa Lou back in Ottawa to tell them to pack a bag and get down to Vermont to join us – there was more than enough room to share, and it was immaculately clean. The living room, bigger than ours at home, had a gas fireplace, a sectional sofa that pulled out into a double bed, and a dining room table that would comfortably seat eight people.

Lookit all the windows!

The second bedroom had two single beds AND a double bed. (I’m sprawled on the double as I take this photo.)

The master bedroom had a king size bed and its own ensuite with a whirlpool bath.

There were four(!) TVs placed strategically through the condo, including one perched on a shelf high above the whirlpool tub… perfect for a leisurely soak while watching COPS – or, erm, whatever else you might want to watch on a Saturday evening.

It was late in the afternoon by the time we finished wandering openmouthed around the condo, waiting for someone to leap out with a camera and say, “Surprise, we were just kidding you. You really think we’d give you all this for FREE**? Hah! Not friggin’ likely!” Nobody did, and so we set off to do a little bit of exploring of the resort itself.

Smuggs is sprawled over the base of three mountains: Madonna, Morse and Sterling. There are several ‘communities’ of condos, some owned outright, others owned and rented out through the resort. The condo we stayed in was in the Sycamore group in the West Hill community, and had its own pool and playground adjacent to the condos.

It didn’t take us long to find the Funmeister’s Clubhouse, a small arcade with video games, ping pong tables and the boys’ new favourite summer pastime, air hockey.

Smuggs has no less than eight pools and four waterslides! On that first afternoon, we tried the Mountainside Pool with its Little Smugglers’ Lagoon, a shallow pool (not quite waist-deep on the boys) with caves for exploring and spraying fountains.

Since the condo’s kitchen was better stocked with cookware and tools than my kitchen at home (including a glass-topped range, dishwasher, blender, toaster and – wait for it – en suite washer and dryer!) we could have easily just made dinner back at the condo. But, of course, we didn’t. Instead, we dined on pizza and pasta at Riga Bello’s, one of several restaurants at Smuggs. Given that it was cafeteria-style counter service at resort prices, it was a surprisingly good meal that the boys actually ate. Nothing like fresh air to stimulate the appetite!

So how do you end a day like this? With Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, of course.

Can you believe I was a Ben and Jerry’s virgin before this trip? After sampling Simon’s chunky monkey (it’s as if they named it after him!), Beloved’s chocolate chip cookie dough, and his own chocolate, Tristan voted my berry sorbet to be the best flavour of the lot.

And all that was just the first six hours!!

Coming next: Segway tours, day camps, and the world’s longest canoe trip…

**Disclosure: I was offered a complimentary visit to Smugglers’ Notch Resort after Smugg’s PR folks read my Ottawa to Bar Harbor posts earlier this summer. Our condo and all activities were complimentary but in no way conditional on a favourable review.

As I mentioned, we spent an extended summer weekend with my brother’s family at his in-laws’ cottage. Gotta love in-laws with a cottage!

The trip didn’t start out so well. By the time we started loading the car on Saturday morning, it was pouring rain and we were two hours behind schedule, partly due to the extended search for the cord to plug the DVD player into the cigarette lighter. Imagine our delight when we went to plug in said DVD player and discovered the cigarette lighter was dead. We were suddenly and unexpectedly facing a seven to eight hour drive with not nearly enough diversions planned to pacify the boys. Right then and there, we almost called the whole thing off.

We didn’t, though, and it’s a testament to how wonderful the weekend was that I can honestly say it was more than worth the hassle of getting there. And we survived a trip all the way across the province to Lake Huron with only a handful of colouring books, some snacks and our wits. Not that I’d ever do it again intentionally, but it’s kind of nice to know we could do it.

We left the 401 near Kitchener, and drove through the pastoral farmland of Southern Ontario that is so evocative of some of the best summer memories of my childhood. There is something about that rolling farmland, the yellow bricks one only finds around London, that particular shade of hazy blue, and the achingly beautiful turquoise of Lake Huron under a cloudless sky that fills my heart with sweet nostalgia. Turns out that even 19 years after the fact, sometimes you can go back home again.

The in-laws’ cottage was actually a grounded trailer with an extended sunporch / florida room, parked year-round at what looks like it used to be a Jellystone campground (warning, noisy link!) deep under a canopy of towering maples. The boys loved the built-in bunk beds, and thought it was pretty cool that Uncle Sean let them drive the golf cart (apparently almost every trailer has one for tooling around the campground) all by themselves.

And where there are golf carts, there are of course serious golfers.

Aside from spending time with family, the main attraction for me was the proximity to Lake Huron. The first beach we visited was so rocky we could barely keep to our feet, and we did little more than wade in up to our ankles and fill our waterguns.

But the second day, we made a pilgrimmage to one of my very favourite summertime places in the whole world, the beach at Grand Bend, Ontario. The water was clear and warm and perfect for swimming, and the day couldn’t have been more lovely. I could have stayed on the beach for days.

Except, of course, for a wander up the main drag to get some french fries and ice cream. Some traditions are sacred, and beach food is one of them.

Who could have guessed that two-and-a-half days of beaches, pools, putt-putt, ice cream, campfires and four kids under six could ever be so refreshing?

On the last day, rather than drive straight home we detoured to a place I haven’t been since I was a tender one year old. I’ve been meaning to get back there for ages, and I don’t know a single person who grew up in Ontario who can’t hum the theme song for the African Lion Safari (sorry, more noisy links. I hate that!) It was another blazing hot day, which simply amplified the African savannah feel to the day.

This is not a picture of me feeding Ritz Bits with Cheez to a baboon who is perched on the passenger side mirror. Feeding the animals is strictly forbidden, as is opening your window.

In fact, if you were – hypothetically speaking, of course – to open your window to get a better picture of the cheetah lying in the grass mere feet from your car, you would hear the immediate and bullhorn-amplified voice of a park ranger insisting that you CLOSE YOUR WINDOW, and if you didn’t immediately heed that first demand in your quest for the perfect picture, you would certainly be motivated to do so by the clear note of panic in the second and far louder bellow to CLOSE YOUR WINDOW NOW. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Not that you would ever flaunt rules so blatantly. Not even later when this very friendly and not in the least bit fierce or bloodthirsty zebra came over to say hello.

By midafternoon under the blazing sun, the combined temperature and humidity topped out over 38C. Thankfully, the park has a supersized splash pad just about the perfect size for a pair of overheated preschoolers.

We finished the day by enjoying the elephant show, including a 15 month old baby elephant gamboling beside its mother that was particularly charming. It’s nice to see the “mischievious toddler” thing extends to other species. And we ended the day on a high note – literally, with Tristan, Simon and I perched atop the back of Jenny, a very patient and very big elephant.

Unfortunately, this isn’t a flattering shot of either of us.

(Click thru for more photos on Flickr.)