The wake up call came in on time, which was good because the in-room alarm clock was twenty minutes late, which I was clueless about. Just hadn’t been paying much attention to time while be lulled by heat and waves. Matt asked where the Raisin Bran was and it wasn’t anywhere, having mysteriously disappeared with the English Muffins. I’m guessing both were left somewhere on the way back from Safeway, probably the cab we staggered into a few blocks from the hotel.
It didn’t matter that the wake up call was on time. We walked out of the hotel toward the meeting place for the snorkeling trip in the beginning of some rain. I was kind of giddy. I love being warm in the rain. It doesn’t happen in San Francisco very much. It was too early for the check-in so we sat in Livewire and eventually some folks came along and told us the trip was canceled. Aside from the actual rain coming down, there was a front coming in. I gotta tell you guys, I was considerably less disappointed than I should have been. Hubby was up for the snorkeling, but the last time I tried anything like that was the Honeymoon From Hell and I got seriously sunburned in the process. Plus I was afraid the water might be cold or that I’d flounder around and not see the actual stuff I was supposed to be seeing.
I did wind up buying some “Crocs”. These sort of plastic, rubbery, shoes with holes in the top. Super comfy and perfect for splashing about in the rain. We also ended up buying umbrellas at the Whalers Market (or Village or Whatever) next to the hotel, because it really did start pouring.
We decided to make this the day we did the Lahaina Historic trail and all the little museums along Front Street. He had breakfast at the Pioneer Inn and I went native eating Loco Moco (eggs, hamburger, rice, gravy. NO I DIDN”T FINISH THE WHOLE THING.) We also did the museum at the Old Court House which had some interesting exhibits from the whaling history and the missionaries. I did notice that many of the historical markers and the museum itself put a more positive spin on the missionaries than I would have thought. Apparently they were an improvement over the whalers. One of the historical sights is the ruins of an old fort that was built by the Hawaiian royal family to protect the missionaries from the whalers.
We also went to “Glow Worm” and played glow-in-the-dark miniature golf. I suck at miniature golf. Really bad. Two of the museums, The Baldwin House and a Chinese Cultural exhibit whose name I can’t remember were closed even though the signs with the times said they’d be open. We also went to the big Catholic Church and walked around both its graveyard and the Seaman’s Graveyard. Hubby and I love old cemeteries. You’ll also be happy to know I was carrying my notebook with me the whole time, trying to write a House/Cuddy story for Starhawk2005’s bday. I’m bi-fictional, but still more slashy than not and the thing was fighting me every step of the way. When we were inside the church…I took out the pad and wrote a few lines. Yes, I wrote smut in a Catholic Church. The things I do for you guys.
Hubby was feeling super cruddy at this point, another reason I’m actually glad we didn’t do the snorkeling. At the same time, I was getting super-psyched for the House episode that night. We went to dinner at one of the high-end seafood restaurants in the 505 Front Street complex. Pacific O, I think. The lobster bisque was intense. Hubby had some poke and I had a fairly good quesadilla. The music was Frank/Dean/Sammy/Bobby and I couldn’t understand why they thought Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline fit in there.
We were exhausted from the early wake-up and facing an earlier one for the Haleakala trip, so the plan was watch House and crash. As my dad used to say “Man plans and god laughs.) As those of you who saw it know (and remember, I’m primarily a H/W slasher) OH MY GOD!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!
Slight digression. Just before House went on we were watching “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” on AMC. Now that I have my slash glasses permanently attached, I see it everywhere. Is this one of the gayest movies EVER or what? And the banter just seemed extremely…welll you know. Cookies and the offer of a fic to anyone who can write some H/W and somehow incorporate Butch and Sundance. End of digression.
Right afterwards I was on-line squeeee-mailing with Beta-Goddess Carol and when I finally got to bed an hour later, I was almost immediately gripped by a plot bunny of heavy duty proportions. H/W Angst. Wilson/House noncom. I’d been mentally struggling with a fic I’d promised Daasgrrl and this was the perfect solution. But the alarm was going off at 2:00AM for a 3:00AM pick-up. “Go away, little bunny,“ I said. I put the Out Of Africa soundtrack on my walkman and closed my eyes. The bunny proceeded to attach its teeth to my throat. (Think Monty Python and the Holy Grail.) Maybe I got a few hours of sleep. Maybe.
Wake-up call came in. Hubby didn’t think he could do the trip. Here’s how it works, they pick you up in the middle of the night and drive to the top of Mt. Haleakala, a dormant volcano. You watch sunrise from above the cloud line. Then you get on a bicycle and ride 38 miles, but it’s all down hill. Most of the riding consists of holding on for dear life. There are about three places on the whole ride where you actually pedal. 14 years ago, I was in lousy shape and scared and it was so hard for me. Plus freezing. You can’t imagine how cold it is up there and I was unprepared. This time, I brought coat, sweatshirt, gloves and I was going to be prepared. I was also going whether hubby was or not. The night before we had discovered that the Whalers Whatever actually had bread and cereal, so he was able to eat some Raisin Bran and decided he was going.
For me this time, the hardest part was the van ride up the mountain. I’m not good in cars and busses doing the twisty turny thing. We got up there and it was gorgeous. Colder than you can imagine. Cold cold cold. I was still cold with all the layers, but not whiny cold. And the stars. So many, so bright. Hubby the star-gazer was ecstatic. The bathrooms up there were some of the nastiest I’ve ever encountered and I’ve been in a porta-potty at the fifth hour of a marathon in Las Vegas. We watched sunrise in the appropriate spiritual hush and headed down the mountain.
I’d grown some cojones since last time. I knew I needed my seat adjusted up and asked up it and then I was good to go. Sometimes I was even riding without braking, wanting to go faster. But the whole time, I’m working on the story. I barely noticed the peril or the views or the fact that my extremities were numb. It was all about House/Wilson smut. I think the fact that I was so distracted really made it easier. Either way. I did it. I’m proud of myself and I never have to do it again.
Vacation report-Part 4