The tree may be down but holiday spirit is still up

When a death trap of a rental car and a lap full of dog vomit doesn't derail your vacation, you know you've had a good one. Team Reed will count 2024 as yet another epic trip to Vacationland.

It started with a couple days in the Old Port where the Captain and I braved the single digits to shop, sample and sip before meeting the rest of the elder Reed clan at DiMillo's and then the Portland Symphony Orchestra.

We picked Ali up on Sunday and traveled north to Jen and Peter's temporary digs on Oak Pond. We'd rented a Jeep Gladiator because we'd recently ended up with a truck as our rental car and Jeff liked driving it. We learned the hard way that this pickup-like vehicle is not meant for cold weather. 

We were on the interstate, about a third of the way into the trip when we experienced the "Jeep Death Wobble" which feels like you're driving down a rutted, gravel road at top speed. The jarring will shake your teeth loose, and when it comes out of nowhere on the interstate, it'll get your attention.

Ali was in the back seat recovering from a wedding that went into the wee hours and and early flight to get to us. Still hungover, she barely ate after declaring that she was starving.

"Did you feel that?" Jeff asks me. "Did I feel that?!" I say.

He slows considerably - probably dangerously for where we were - but keeps going. A few minutes later it happens again and we pull off the highway. We discuss whether to keep going (the Captain's idea) or to go back to the airport rental car facility (my idea.) I've by then found numerous articles about the death wobble.

Ali surfaces, sides with me and starts to eat leftover mac-n-cheese with her fingers. Jeff agrees but asks us to guard the suitcases - which are in the open bed of the Jeep - while he handles the matter. I'm torn because I want to share my death wobble news with the rental people but I also want to guard our gifts and clothes. I'm rewarded with a conversation with a random rental guy who made the mistake of being in the garage area and asking if we were there to turn in our vehicle. I worked "death trap" into my conversation as genially as I could.

We ended up with an F-150 pickup truck that gave us lots more room and heated seats.

Like magic, it snowed the night we got in. We spent Christmas morning sliding like juveniles on a hill across the road. Jen nearly crashed into a tree, and Ali nearly crashed into me.  Jeff was the best slider of all of us. Peter nearly had Nicodemus trained as a sled dog, but mostly Nic scampered about in the snow, diving for sticks and running alongside the sliders.

We had a great Christmas dinner - prime rib instead of our usual turkey - and lots of other treats and libations.  

In between making cookies and more Hallmark movies than Peter ever wants to glimpse again, we took snowy walks and got to see the progress being made on Jen and Peter's new house. 

On one of our walks, Nic found and sampled something along the side of the road. He was a bit unsettled during the night, and the next morning, as we started off to James and David's camp in Jackman, he barfed a bit. We thought that had fixed what ailed him.

The five of us - six counting Nic - cozy in to Jen's car for the 90-minute trip. 

We'd never made it up to Jackman on prior trips because we were usually closer to Portland. But the temporary housing was close enough that it made the trip doable this time. We had a great time, took another snowy walk, adding Zeke, to the group, before heading back to Jen and Peter's. 

Jen, Ali and I assume our back seat positions, with me in the middle and Nic on Jen's lap pointing toward me. He was laying down, mostly on Jen with his head on my lap when he started moving restlessly. He stood up and yakked right into my lap.

"Oh, Nicodemus," Jen tells him. "She didn't like you that much to begin with!"

It's true that I'm not a person who slathers pets with kisses and spends hours petting or playing with them. My parents didn't allow indoor pets, and our dogs were for hunting. I love dogs and cats, but more from afar. When it comes to animal kisses, count me out, man. 

Nic's vomit, thankfully, did not come with a sickening odor, so no one was really inconvenienced by the eruption but me. Jeff, who had been dozing in the front passenger seat, noted the incident and went right back to sleep. 

Jen held Nic while Ali and I sopped up as much as we could with paper towels from the back.

"Should I pull over?" Peter asked.

"Not unless he's going to go again," I said.

We keep driving. Nic lays down down and seems hesitant to put his head on my lap again. I silently tell him that it's not my fault his former pillow is now damp and sticky. He decides it's not so bad that he can't get comfortable again. My position on dog kisses deepens.

I slid immediately out of the car when we get home, stopping only to retrieve the wad of vomit-soaked paper towels, and head to the shower, tossing my clothes in the washer. I emerged much happier. Nic was nearly back to his normal happy self.

I had a work thing crop up on Friday, which took me a little out of the mix, but we all still managed to visit St. George Lake State Park where most of us scaled the Pinnacle trail. Jeff and I bailed early so I could make my work call. Apparently the view from the pinnacle wasn't as awe-inspiring as had been hoped. But it was a beautiful walk in beautiful woods and that deeply piled, pristine snow.

We'd considered driving back into Portland Friday night to make the morning flights easier, but Ali said she wanted as much time with family as possible, so Jen and Peter put up with us for another night. We all pitched in to make dinner, and it was a wonderful end to another great trip.

Next up, our nearly annual New Year's Eve open house. Come by if you're in Indy!