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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Ammi Midstokke: Weekend adventures as a grown up

By Ammi Midstokke Correspondent

There was a time, when packing for a girls’ weekend away, I struggled to make room for pumps, little black dresses, industrial strength makeup, and the latest hangover remedy recommended by Dr. Oz.

So last week as I was tossing pumps into my Outback (the Schrader and Presta valve varieties), I observed the mature, and in the case of Kelly’s orthopedic pillow – geriatric, differences between a weekend away as a real grown-up versus back when my only obligation was to not require a visit to the emergency room.

Strangely enough, my grown-up weekends have a much higher ER visitation rate. Apparently, I partied in my twenties more responsibly than I ride a bike in my thirties.

As I made room for Kelly’s pillow, I observed the contents of the filling car: bike tools, bike shoes, bike helmets, medical texts, knitting needles and more yarn than an Irish granny could work through in a month of Aran sweaters, a single bottle of classy red wine, a cooler stuffed with organic vegetables and salmon, and enough supplements to start our own roadside vitamin shop.

We were headed to Montana to visit the Whitefish Bike Retreat. If you have not yet been there, then let me take a moment to explain why you should go, even if you don’t own a bike.

Some years ago, a lady who likes bikes (and doing crazy things on them) bought a ranch and turned it into a lodge and camping location for other people who like bikes. Tucked into the foothills outside of Whitefish, it is a gold mine of some of the sweetest trail I have ever rolled.

And if you’re not so much into bikes, you can cross-country ski, snow show, hit the resort, hike, or cozy up in the lodge all weekend with your knitting needles.

So Kelly and I arrived and unloaded our very grown-up supplies, then promptly went to bed because it was already after midnight and thus at least three hours past our bedtime.

In the morning, we slept like gluttons until nearly 8 a.m., and woke up giddy at the prospect of not having to make breakfast for our children. These are the small joys of grown-up trips. That, and having time for at least two cups of coffee.

The weather was in spectacular form, meaning that as we could not change it we decided that 40 degrees and pouring rain were perfect for a long ride. For hours we wound our way around the hills, slingshotting ourselves through smoothly banked corners, stopping to eat the latest in hippie, vegan, caffeinated, vitamin-fortified, sprouted wonder-food energy bars, and absorbing the glories of autumnal forests.

Soaked and exhausted, we returned to the lodge to continue knitting, napping, and making the spectacular meals that one would expect of a couple of nutritionists on a bender: artisan crackers, organic blackberries, sautéed mushrooms, and sparkling water.

Then we went to bed. Early.

The next day was a similarly nourishing experience. We went for an epic bike ride (Kelly let me peel off to rally what is perhaps one of my most favorite trails on the planet), ate a beautiful lunch, stopped for roadside yoga on the way home, and then splurged on some form of drive-through chai that shockingly had corn syrup solids.

We know this because while we were careening down the highway talking about how suspect its deliciousness was, we decided we should Google the ingredients. This was a bad idea.

When we came home, my heart was full and my body tired with the rich fatigue of good, wholesome use.

What I recognize as a grown-up that I did not appreciate before is that weekends and trips are supposed to rejuvenate us. They are for nourishing our bodies or replenishing our souls.

They are not for catching up on laundry and grocery shopping, but for laughter and sleeping late, friends and family, and making the memories that write the story of our lives.

There is a weekend coming up. Make good use of it. Make some memories.