Doing

Vacations are either about doing or seeing. On seeing vacations, you see things -- museums, famous sites, family. There are variations to this rule, of course. Foodies go on vacations to eat, wine tasters to taste, music lovers to listen. Or so I hear.

I like doing vacations. Go somewhere cool and do cool things. There may be seeing involved (mountain peaks, white beaches, rushing rivers) but the seeing (and eating, tasting, and listening) is in service to the doing. To quote Yoda: "Do or do not. There is no try." I bet he's a cool guy to vacation with, easily the best of the Jedi.

Today we are wrapping up 10 days of a doing vacation in the great Northwest. I think, in fact, in a career of doing vacations this may just be my masterpiece. Our down moments have been few and far between, and we will return to California tired and relaxed. The best vacations, you go home (and even to work) to rest.

It started a week ago Friday, when we flew to Seattle and made our way to Markay and Bob's home ("this is their house?" Andie said as we pulled up the driveway. "It's so big!") Bob had an excellent red wine ready to go, which we savored on their terrace looking at their perfect lawn and hot tub. They are preparing to sell the house so boxes were strewn around, and Bob (a definitive doer) got up early Saturday morning to finish painting the front railing. The rest of us slept in.

Then it was off to Anacortes, with a stop at Snowgoose Produce to get the best ice cream – you know it's vacation when we're getting double scoops at 10am. The fog lifted on time, and after a brief stop at the Neumanns' Anacortes home we boarded Ruach, a beatiful 35 foot Erikson, and sailed out, bound for Orcas Island.

The winds were steady, the sun bright, the sandwiches good, the beer cold, the crew swarthy. (When you're on a doing vacation, it's always a good sign when your travel log sounds like a Jimmy Buffett song.) Bob dropped a crab pot in a cove and then Will, Andie and me at the Rosario Resort dock. This was done with a sense of urgency, as the dock was clearly marked as being reserved for sea planes, and one was approaching. Doing vacations are always improved by near collisions with oceangoing aircraft.

Dinner at Rosarios was excellent, enhanced by ice cold martinis. Then we sadly waved goodbye to our cousins, as they sailed back to their hidden cove and sunken crab pot.

The Ruach sails out of Rosario, its crew sated with martinis and anticipating a full crab pot

Orcas Island is a remarkably well-preserved place. Markay filled us with tales of childhood summers there, and it wasn't hard to transport ourselves back to that time as we traveled the island for a couple of days. The hike to the top of Mt. Constitution, the run around Mountain Lake, the eagles swooping over a Rosario swimming pool full of kids and parents, all timeless.

On the other hand, back then there was no sign for Gaggs road (marking the entrance to Markay's grandparent's home just outside of Deer Harbor), and the cappuccinos at the Outlook Inn have likely improved considerably (but not the cocktails -- Ava tended bar there for a couple of summers in the 80s, and I'm sure her drinks beat anything they can come up with now.) We collected driftwood, sat in the wheelhouse of our whale watching voyage, and rang the bells of East Sound. On Tuesday we caught the early morning ferry and headed north to Vancouver.

When the weather is great, as it was this week, Vancouver may just be the finest city in the world. Go on, dip your feet in (relatively) warm water, saunter the beautiful beaches, run the waterfront trails, and view the snow-peaked mountains that line the northern horizon. Walk from your hotel on Granville Island (which isn't really an island, but that's OK since it's on False Creek, which isn't really a creek) to the public market, where buckets of berries (and tons of other great food) await you. We dropped our stuff at the hotel, changed into shorts and flip-flops, and walked to the Bard on the Beach theater in hopes of scoring Shakespeare tickets. Alas, the show was sold out, but the eagles perched on the big tree (mom, dad, baby) made the trip worth it. We spent the afternoon walking along English Bay toward Stanley Park, watching the water and the people. There were so many of them -- isn't this Tuesday? Doesn't anyone around here work?

The next day we poked around the island and let the kids run free, and were delighted to find them an hour later sitting on the deck of Bridges with their aunt and uncle. This wasn't a big surprise, since we knew Shirley and Dan were on their way, but it was still pretty cool. The day was hot enough that after lunch we accompanied Andie and Will to the water park, which they quickly rejected. Too many little kids, they said, and nothing tells you that your kids are no longer little than them walking away from a water park on a hot day because they're too big for it. Oh well. There were hours to fill and things to do. Will and I circumnavigated False Creek in a kayak, dodging yachts and water taxis, hugged the coast of English Bay, and returned home. That'll show him to forego the water park! Because this was the perfect vacation, the city of Vancouver put on a fireworks show for us, so we closed the day in style.

On Thursday we visited Ava's family in Chilliwack. Irma was quite delighted to have five of her six kids with her (and two of a zillion grandkids) and she beamed throughout lunch. As usual, the first thing she asked me was how my parents were, and the last thing she told me was to say hello to them. As usual, I told her I would take care of her daughter.

So I did. I got her out of there and on to Whistler.

For doing vacations, it's hard to beat ski resorts in the summer. We've vacationed at several of them, but when it comes to stuff to do Whistler may just be the best. The tourist map would bring a lesser doer to his knees. Zip lines? Check. Mountaintop hikes? Check. ATV tours? Check. Rafting? Luge run? Playgrounds and climbing sized Olympic Rings? No problem. World-class mountain bike park, full of guys (and girls) flinging themselves down crazy steep hills. Yep. I needed help, so on Friday morning we walked into an "activities center" in the village, but as soon as the woman working there realized we were not at all interested in buying a time share she became not at all interested in us. I was on my own.

OK, OK, I can do this. I am not overwhelmed by the choices, I'm not. When in doubt, I thought, get on a ski lift. So we did, grabbing the gondola and the peak chair to the very top of Whistler. The map said there was a long hike up there along the ridge, and since hiking is the very essence of doing I knew we'd be OK. But ... oh no! Snow covered the trail! There was no hiking to be had. "Are you OK, Dad?" Will wondered.


Fortunately, I was saved by the peak 2 peak gondola connecting Whistler to Blackcomb. Normally I wouldn't consider riding a lift "doing", but this thing is just spectacular. And since Ava has a bit of a fear of heights, riding in a metal box suspended by a thin cable across a chasm very much counts as doing. Acrophobia be damned!!

As I noted earlier, though, the thing that summertime Whistler is best known for is its mountain biking. Therefore, we mountain bike. Never mind that Andie has never done it before, or never shifted gears or used hand brakes. Never mind that when I told the guys at bike central that she was nine years old that they said she may be too young. "She bikes all the time" I said with confidence, not mentioning that the flat roads of Palo Alto are a bit tamer than the twisting trails of Whistler. "She can do it." And so I was right.

Will, of course, is a demon on a bike, and he quickly got bored following Andie and our guide Emily down the hill. "C'mon, Dad!" he said, and we took off. Three turns later I heard a crash and an "oh nooooo!!!!" and I rounded the bend to see Will sitting on his bike in a small ravine. "I took that one a little too tight," he smiled. You gotta love that.

We run Lost Lake, take yoga classes on the plaza in front of Lulu's, eat lunch at Earls, and return to Lost Lake for afternoon swimming and reading. I can't wait to get home. It's time to rest.