The motor home saga, thanks to ATMs and the Shell Oil Company, forges ahead. Sure, we’re having fun…except for that part when I woke up one bright Monday morning and felt a large lump. The first thought was that I haven’t done anything, and I mean anything, strenuous enough to give me a hernia. Believe me, I would remember that.

So I found an urgent-care facility attached to a hospital and called a cab. What – I’m going to drive a motor home through an unfamiliar town looking for a hospital? No.

Now I’m sure that the place I found is a great facility filled with caring, competent people. But after spending three hours in their version of not-really-all-that-urgent, urgent care I truly no longer gave one bloody damn. I checked out after promising to see my family doctor.

The physician’s assistant who saw me said I shouldn’t be so impatient – it was Monday after all. I agreed that it was Monday but since they obviously knew the day of the week they should plan for it – it was their hospital not mine after all. But by that time I was telling it to the hall as the PA walked away.

The PA wanted to do an ultrasound since “lumpy” probably wasn’t a hernia (wrong non-mid-line location – say what?), and started using other words more scary than hernia. An ultrasound would have been fine. Well, mostly fine except that once I saw how this facility defined “urgent” I honestly just didn’t have the time – I want to be able to see my six-year-old daughter graduate high school.

I was never going to be able to do that if I waited for an ultrasound in a hospital in Eureka (especially since it meant being transferred from the urgent care division to the hospital and then back to urgent care after completion). And there was more paperwork to be done – someone would be in to see me.

No thank you very much. I live in a city with world-class medical facilities. I’m going to let a place that was obviously having problems understanding what urgent care really means do anything to me? Uh, no.

So I checked myself out, called a cab and went back to the hotel. We packed the motor home, I checked out, and we hit the road.

I’m begging you, please stop

After all the hospital nonsense we didn’t manage to get back on the road until after 1pm. We needed to make up some time if we were going to see some redwoods during daylight. And we were going to see those damn trees.

And eventually the kids started getting along great – they both fell asleep. After that I made wonderful time until we paused to look at those trees when darling daughter and son started up again. Ride or walk? Gondola or no gondola? Shuttle or no shuttle?

Are you kidding me? Put me on the shuttle to the tram, then in the gondola to the top. Spin me in a 360, let me glance at a few trees and stuff and then put me back in the gondola. At the base have the shuttle waiting for me to take me to the gift store and then the parking lot.

But no. They wanted to hike and look at trees, take photos in front of trees, and climb trees (luckily that last one was absolutely off limits by the state). So we hit the trails (yes, even I hiked a bit).

Okay, the trees and nice – very big and ancient and beautiful. Now can I go to a comfy hotel with a three-star restaurant and spa?