(The Mount Everest ride at Disneyworld and the standard by which all mountains are judged)
"Are we in the Himalayas?" asks Tommy as we drive through yet another mountain pass that is almost completely snowed in. Almost, but not quite. I was supposed to be driving on I-70. The mountains on 70 aren't that exciting but there was a rock slide so instead we went over Pikes' Peak (which Tommy was sure was Mount Everest). It was the first of five, count them five mountain passes in which it was snowing heavily. It could have been six but one was so snowy that they simply closed it. There were two detours taking us a total of about 250 miles out of our way. It took 22 and a half hours. It was really pretty country, even or perhaps especially covered in snow but my car was full of precious people. And my hands got sore from gripping the steering wheel and my eyes are all squinty from glaring into blizzards. We did however, arrive safely and my little monkeys couldn't be more thrilled to be with Grammy and Grandpa and favorite cousins. Already, it was worth it. But I am sort of thinking about just selling my car and flying home.