It was sublime in its simpleness. My son Skyler and I turned off Highway 101, flanked by towering redwoods, evergreens, and a wandering clear river carving its centuries-old path. We turned right at the end of the off ramp and after 500 yards pulled into the parking lot in front of the general store where I was to meet my friend who lived in this remote northern California town. Coming from a sprawling metropolis of endless suburbs and after 10 hours on the road, I was dubious that it could be this easy to meet someone at an unnamed store. The afternoon sun felt toasty, warming, and energizing as I stepped out of my dust covered car. I didn't see my friend anywhere, so I asked the cashier if there was another market in town. Nope just the one. Another minute later, my friend breezed in and waved to everyone she saw. Small town wonders of uncomplicated bliss. We took a stroll through the Avenue of the Giants (a breathtaking grove of enormous redwood trees) and swam in the Eel River, before continuing our meandering drive along the craggy coastline to Trinity Bay, then our campsite on the Smith River near the Oregon border.

This summer I took each of my pre-teen sons on a road trip, specifically designed to see the place they most wanted to visit: a prime opportunity to bond before the turbulent teen years struck with full force. Already the signs are upon us. It was time to get out in nature where hopefully we could find our way back to ourselves, acceptance, and a foundation of understanding .

A few miles after my son Kobe and I entered Yellowstone National Park, he spotted a Bald Eagle perched atop a tall, leafless snag. Hardly anyone else was in the park at 6:30 a.m. We donned our jackets for the 40 degree weather and stepped outside to take pictures of the steam rising off the river. A random turn led us to a herd of bison. Careful to keep our distance (people who try to pet bison are gored yearly in YNP), we watched, fascinated as two calves attempted to nurse from their reluctant mother. We then drove to Old Faithful. I was ten the last time I had been here: the moment I began to truly cherish and revere wild, feral freedom. I cried when the geyser erupted, much to Kobe's bewildered entertainment. We visited other geysers and pools, until Kobe begged to be released from the sulphur smell. We lunched at Yellowstone Lake, hiked Uncle Tom's trail to the bottom of Lower Falls, saw grizzly bears, black bear, moose, elk, red tail hawks, ospreys. With the afternoon sun high over head, and now a sulrty 75 degrees and breezy, we hiked Mary Mountain trail. Once out of site from our car, one of the bison originally munching grass on the other side of a knoll lumbered over to rest his massive body on the trail between us and the car. Damn. We trudged back over the meadow, careful to avoid bison pies. A unseen bison from the the otherside of the knoll grunted and we nearly screamed. Once in the car and heading for the next grand adventure we laughed nervously, cautious at first, until we sighed with relief then burst into giggles.

Even those trips you think you'll dread with old fart parents can hold some of the greatest treasures you'll ever know: for you and them. Hit the road with an open mind, a pair of binoculars, and a ready laugh and I guarantee you'll find wonders you never thought possible.