So tired. It's been a long 5 days. Red-eye to Chicago last Wed night for an all day conference Thurs. Back in SF by 10:30 p.m. the same day. Up at 7 a.m. Friday for a trip to the zoo with friends. Pack The Boy and car in the afternoon. On the road finally by 4 p.m. just in time to sit in Bay Area traffic for two hours. Fine dinner of pancakes and eggs at the Black Bear Diner in Redding at 9:30 p.m. Arrive at at the Ho Down at 12 a.m. to catch a few hours of sleep. Up at 7:30 to play cars and cook pancakes for The Boy. Hike 7 miles along the PCT at altitude with 35+ lbs of wriggling toddler and accessories on my back. Brief respite while Little Po and Best Hikes read Richard Scary to The Boy. Back in action roasting Hebrew Nationals while watching the boy cook dirt soup in my Teflon camping pots. So tired. But wait, where was I? The Ho Down. Yes, the Ho Down. Good fun.

If you've never thought that singing Eagles songs at the top of your lungs in a darkened campground could be considered a formidable weapon for world domination, think again. Kim Jong-il needs to rethink the whole nuclear weapons angle and consider hiring WineHiker to belt Emmylou Harris songs through amplified megaphones. It would stop advancing armies in their tracks. Believe me, we were one Eagles song away from being jumped by the rednecks one camp over. Not only did you miss late night serenades featuring play lists Wolf Man Jack would be proud of, you could have seen Two Heel raising wine glasses like they were his Leki hiking poles and found out about a secret Yosemite secret hiking trail from Fedak. And finally, you would have found out that Trout Underground, though perhaps a good fisherman, is much more adept at landing a better half that not only bakes a mean brownie in record time, but knows Shasta like the back of her hand.

Now if you just read this and have no idea what I'm talking about, well, consider joining the Ho Down next year.