The gods must be crazy

It doesn’t last, of course.

“I’m hungry,” Mitchell says.

“We’re lost,” wails Miranda in the backseat.

“Shhh,” say Adam and I in unison.

We are snaking through the Gardens of the Gods park at a painfully, snail-like pace. The view is spectacular, red rocks towering over the scrub brush below like psychedelic skyscrapers, but there’s nary a picnic table is sight. Admitting defeat, we head back over the visitor’s center and get a map, which leads us to the perfect picnic site. We eat our sandwiches under a shady tree and watch kids scrambling over a two-story rock, blatantly flouting park rules against climbing the rocks.

“They aren’t allowed to get on the rocks,” Miranda says. “I am going to tell them to get off,” Miranda says.

“Well, we aren’t the park police,” Adam says. “That’s up to their parents. They’ll learn their lesson if they fall off and break their necks (light sarcasm).”

“Well I hope they do,” Miranda says.

“No you don’t!” I interject.

“Well, they should get off the rocks,” Miranda reiterates.

The kids are getting restless, so we decide to take a short hike around the picnic site. What was meant to be a short loop starts off well, but turns into the Bataan death march as the sun beats relentlessly and the kids’ energy flags. We head back to the hotel to rest, eat popcorn and watch SpongeBob, until we decide what to do next.