Since we spent Thanksgiving morning at the beach, and I spent the evening being the token American at a holiday potluck at our Canadian-filled timeshare, we didn’t go on an adventure yesterday. Instead, here are some random thoughts from the trip:

• People keep asking me if I’ve had any Spam since arriving in Hawaii, and I’m all like, “Don’t you realize I can get the freshest Spam at home just down the road in Austin, Minnesota?”
• We were watching the news yesterday and they interviewed a couple waiting for a mall in Oahu to open up at 6 PM. They mentioned that they were going to need new suitcases to take all their stuff home. In other words, they traveled to Hawaii to wait in line and shop for stuff they could get back at home. Hooray for the foot soldiers in the War for Christmas.

I certainly hope our intrepid shoppers don’t get their shopping gift wrapped and dispose of it on the Road to Hana.

• Despite my love of fancy cocktails and Tiki drinks, I’ve come to love the following beverage this week: Rum, POG Juice (Passion Fruit, Orange and Guava juice) and Sprite. Delicious.
• While the pronunciation is different, Pi’ikea Street certainly looks like an equation required to build a bookshelf.
• I try to pack the exact amount of clothes I need for vacation, but I always end up wearing the same three things. “Well, I went hiking in these socks yesterday, and we won’t shower until we get back from today’s hike, let’s see what new and interesting smells can come from my feet.”

We’re going on one hike this morning, and these clothes are ready to go on a different one.

• Maui: One of the Ten Most Remote Places in the World You Can Litter.
• I haven’t written about Maui’s fine casual dining because we have a kitchen in the timeshare. This means out of fifteen possible meals, we’ve only eaten out twice.       Although, I haven’t had beef since we left, so I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed to reenter Minnesota on Tuesday.
• My Adidas Terrex Swift Solo Approach shoes are about as good a hiking tennis shoe as I’ve ever had. The rubber coating over the toes has prevented about three million foot injuries climbing over rocks and roots. (Not a sponsored comment, but if Adidas wanted to send a men’s 10.5 and women’s 8.5 our way, I wouldn’t complain. *wink*).
• Everything that isn’t described as a natural wonder in Maui seems to be covered in graffiti.
• When we were in the visitor’s center at the Haleakala Crater, someone called in to ask about the weather, which can change drastically from the time you call and the time you arrive. We were talking with the folks working there and they said that once the received a call from someone asking what the weather would be like in thirty days. Your own ten day forecast can change hourly (at least on weather.com) and we had several days in Minnesota where a zero percent chance of rain was forecast while it was raining, so I have no idea in the world how someone would make hiking plans 29 days and 23 hours in advance of driving to the park.
• I’m very much missing my annual Black Friday tradition of eating at Wally Waffles in Tallmadge, Ohio with my college pal Lisa. It’s funny how traditions like that just sort of happen, and how you really notice when the tradition is broken.
• I left Minnesota with three internet ready electronic devices, two credit cards and six bucks in my wallet. When I went to England in 1995, I had one Sony Discman and all of the travelers’ checks. In just two decades, the fundamental way we travel is completely different—although you are carry just as much value, just packaged in larger, lithium ion powered, packages.

If you like green, you’ll love the Road to Hana!

Settle down Kermit, with a billion inches of rain annually it is easy being green.

The Road to Hana is one of the “Must Do” events on any trip to Maui. If you don’t spent the entire three hour drive there and the three hour return trip constantly exclaiming, “My God! It’s so beautiful!” to no one and everyone around you, then it’s probably time to get a family size bag of Cheetos, turn on “King of Queens” and sit on your couch until the Grim Reaper comes to take you away.

Okay, it’s not all green. Some of it is orange too.

We set out early, and after picking up some coffee to fortify us for the morning drive, we watched a dog surfing on a container in the back of a pickup truck. As was foretold in the ancient scrolls, there is no better weather omen for any trip in Maui. Also, dog surfing on pickup truck.

The world’s most awesome dog.

We started the first leg of the journey sort of hustling through the road to Hana with the idea that we’d beat the traffic on the way to Hana and be able to drive back with less obstructions and stop where we wanted to on the way.

Around the midpoint on the road, we pulled off at a stunning view over a bluff. A local was there.

“You guys are out here early.”

“We wanted to get a head start and when you are from Minnesota, the time difference makes it easy to get on the road.”

“Well, I was just hoping to get some cell service, but that looks like it isn’t going to happen. Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

It was at this point that I’d like to note that the most arduous part of this adventure is that Fiona and I went nearly nine hours without cellular service. *Shudder*

This is better than a cell tower.

We continued on our way to Hana and noticed nearly every roadside stand was closed. Not sure if it was because of the looming holiday, or if people just like to have Wednesday off after working a long weekend, but we didn’t mind.

After a sold three hours of driving and honking (more on that later), we arrived at the “other” Haleakalā National Park. I say “other” because my geography is absolutely terrible and I swear we were looking at Haleakalā crater on the drive home going the other direction (Note: The national park covers 33,265 acres so I’m okay, even if my geography is bad).

You don’t get to see this on your average commute to work.

It seems as if most people terminate their drive on The Road to Hana by visiting the ʻOheʻo Gulch, also known as the “Seven Sacred Pools.” I much prefer the other hike in the park, the Pipiwai Trail. The trail is a two mile walk that starts uphill over rocks and a billion roots which might pull you under at any moment. It continues on into a well maintained path through a bamboo forest which, while it looks pretty much the same throughout, makes the most amazing sounds when the wind blows. The forest sounds like an old wooden boat struggling against its ropes on a dock. It reminds me of the marina I worked at growing up.

We chased it and caught it. Now what do we do with it, TLC?

At the end of the bamboo forest, you can scramble over a couple of small rock-covered streams and reach Waimoku Falls. Which is where we sat down on the rocks and had lunch. While the waterfall was light during the time we were there, but it was still nice. If the waterfall had been fast-flowing, then of course we wouldn’t have been able to have lunch about 20 feet from the basin. So there’s that.

Foodies haven’t yet figured out how to get a truck down here. Yet.

After lunch, we did head over to the Gulch for a few minutes, but between the woman who was trying to get her boyfriend to take the perfect photo over the ocean—although the wind was not cooperating and Marilyn Monroeing her white swimsuit cover-up, much to her embarrassment and her boyfriend’s and our exhaustion, and the guy who walked to far out on the rocks he was likely to be swept away by the tide after photobombing everyone’s attempts at an amazing nature photo–we decided to call it a day and head back.

Our drive home was somewhat eventful. Going there, it’s called “The Road to Hana” but coming back it’s called, “Why the hell aren’t you honking your horn?” Multiple times, my wife and I remarked how The Road to Hana reminded us of driving in the Lake District in England, but with slightly wider roads, sunshine, and mongooses instead of hedgehogs. To that point, while most of the drive is a winding two lanes, there are a countless number of single lane bridges and blind turns which by law require you to blow your horn. As a matter of fact, ona daily basis there is more horn blowing on the Road to Hana than there is in Manhattan.

Which, if you think about it, is a uniquely human way to experience nature. Or if you are a feral dinosaur rooster howling for the sun to rise at 4 AM.

Start the day with a surfing dog and end it with a rainbow. Not a bad way to spend a day in paradise.

“It’s going to be 40 degrees. We’re from Minnesota. I don’t need to wear pants.” My life has been littered with the utterances of bad ideas, but this detritus was from the bottom of the barrel. I realized it once we reached the summit of Haleakalā Crater, roughly 45 minutes before sunrise. When I stepped out of the car, I was blasted with an Antarctic wind reminiscent of the McMurdo Station. It actually wasn’t that bad, and my legs weren’t cold, but my light jacket, no hattedness (it would have blown away), and a blanket from the timeshare weren’t enough to keep me from shivering away and to keep Fiona from asking me every five minutes if I was okay (I was). It wasn’t polar vortex cold, but I would recommend wearing all of the clothes if you plan on attending sunrise.

We ate sandwiches in the car as the last vestiges of stargazing were replaced by the pink and orange hues of the looming day. Clouds covered the entire world below us, but on the summit of Haleakala, it was clear above.

Hey Chewie, why do you go in the back and see if Lando has any more of those Colt 45s.

About twenty-five minutes before sunrise, we decided to brave the weather and evacuate the warmth of the car. Swaddled together in a blanket, we waited patiently. A tiny sliver of the sun peaked over the horizon and suddenly the clouds were on fire. Not the “HOLY CRAP THAT FARM IS ON FIRE!” moment we had driving past a sugar cane field preparing for harvest at 4 AM. It was a slow burning ember that started to grow at the bottom of the world. The clouds continued to heat and the fire spread until a fully formed sun was birthed just a few minutes later.

The sky is totally on fire, you guys.

Haleakalā translates as the “House of the Sun” and according to our friends at Wikipedia, Haleakalā was home to Māui the Hawaiian trickster. Māui and his grandmom captured the sun and forced it to journey across the sky.

It was one of the most breathtaking moments of my life (and not just because we were at 9,740 feet in the air and it was super windy). To be honest, there’s only one other thing in my life that would get me up at 3:30 in the morning, drive for an hour and a half and then stand in the freezing cold for what was essentially a five minute reward: girls. Happily, I’m married now. History aside, at least with girls, there wasn’t someone with a camera obstructing my view.

We’re considering inviting this guy on all of our vacations for consistency.

The best photos capture what the human eye wants to see. The challenge with Haleakalā is the depth of the views don’t translate well to my point-and-click camera. I see all these dads trailing behind their families with their super-zoom, hyper-shutter, extra-optical-fancy-pants-aperture cameras slung around their next with a diaper bag sized accessory carrier and have to wonder if they actually are taking better pictures than me. They can’t all be photographers on family vacations, or maybe it’s a fancy toy. Is it really worth the effort though? I can snap off a couple of pictures good enough to prompt my memory and then get back to the beauty of what I’m looking at. I’m there for the experience, not the photo.

The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man was forged by the gods in the clouds of Haleakalā.

*Posts several mediocre pictures to his blog*

Tangent ends.

Endangered species don’t care about your thigh gap, Caitlin.

After the sunrise, we went to the summit and hit a couple of other trails in the park. Mostly, it was vistas of the clouds below. Very enjoyable, but nothing compared to what we were rewarded with the two mile round trip on the Halemauu Trail. This short rocky jaunt was simple compared to our previous day’s hiking. We navigated the rocky path which ended on a cliff where we could toss a ring into the crater of a dormant Mordor, although this is a terrible metaphor.

Honey, have you seen my precious?

Haleakalā’s crater was not formed from a massive eruption and collapse, or orcs clambering up the sides, but rather from centuries of have rain wearing away the rocks. As I peered over the edge, the clouds blankets separated into wisps and we had an unobstructed view of the crater below. We lingered, by ourselves, for about ten minutes before we heard two people headed toward us on the path. Our connection to nature broken, we wished them a good morning and worked our way back to the car. Tired and satisfied.

We sat on a beach, watching the last few golden wisps on sunlight drop below the cloudy horizon while little crabs popped in and out of their holes scuttling to and fro with no apparent drive to do much of anything but wrestle and hunt for food.

I think I’ll have the crab and the crabs will have the sunset.

I said to Fiona, “Don’t those crabs even realize how beautiful this is?”

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting on the balcony of our room, munching on cheese and crackers when it dawned on me. The only thing that differentiates us from these crustaceans is that occasionally we do stop and look at the sunset. It was the perfect ending to an imperfect first two days of vacation.

I sat in front of Satan’s daughter on the first leg of our flight. Fiona’s bag decided to do an overnight in Seattle to see the Space Needle, toss some fish and hang out with Irene McGee for a bit. We spent 22 straight hours awake, only to land and go to the grocery store for coffee. We crashed hard but woke up only three hours later from noise and the time change. We broke the key in the lock of the timeshare.

While often called the Space Needle of Maui by Seattle tourists, Fiona’s bag was not here.

Most of our first twenty-four in Maui was spent blocking and tackling #sportsmetaphors. Costco, the grocery store and the like because we must have our POG juice and rum. But first, we headed to Moose McGillycuddy’s in Kihei so that I could saddle up to the bar and watch the Browns game. Yes, I understand I’m in paradise, but 40 years of watching the Browns means no matter where I am, I must watch the Browns. It’s like having a medication case with the days of the week on it, but only contains a pill on Sunday (or Monday or Thursday or Saturday).

Moose McGillycuddy’s is an excellent place to watch a game (Tip: If you get there at least 30 minutes before kickoff, you can pick your spot and they’ll change the TV to the game you want to watch). A pair of beers and a three egg omelet so packed that they must have used dinosaur eggs to make it. This is not as unlikely as you might think. Hawaii + Hurricanes + liberated chickens = the closest thing we have to dinosaurs in the modern world. There are chickens all over the place in Maui, just hanging out. Running errands. Surfing. Voting. Anyway, the Browns looked terrible but still managed to win the game.

With the chickens and plants like this, Maui is getting all Jurassic Park up in our business.

Invasive species like the one pictured here are a problem on all of the Hawaiian islands.

We did sneak some touristing in. Between the Browns game and Costco, we drove out to Iao Valley State Park to see one of the most recognizable landmarks on the island, the Iao Needle. The needle extends 1,200 feet into the air and is stunningly green. The park itself is a very short walk, but is a nice primer to the more adventurous walks we’ll be taking the rest of the trip. Ample vegetation and pretty views, it gave us a few minutes to enjoy Hawaii before we went to pick up Fiona’s bag at the airport and do the most American of touristy things-shopping.

Honey, I don’t think that’s the way to Costco.