SLO woman spent ‘glorious days’ in Lake Tahoe. Then came surgery and a fire-fueled evacuation

We have a travel motto in our family: “You don’t take a trip. A trip takes you.” This year our vacation took us to the hospital.

It wasn’t a direct route. We had a few glorious days at Lake Tahoe, riding our bikes 30 miles along the Truckee River and dining outdoors overlooking the Lake Tahoe Dam.

We roasted marshmallows in the Sierra hamlet Markleeville — famous for its Death Ride-Tour of the California Alps, a grueling bicycle ride boasting 15,000 feet of climbing.

Then it was on to Kennedy Meadows where, on Friday, we hiked seven miles to Relief Reservoir. Life was oh so good.

But at 3 o’clock Saturday morning, I woke up feeling queasy. Fearing I might be in for a gastrointestinal explosion, I grabbed the trash can in our pop-up trailer and headed into the dark in search of the camp bathroom.

Becoming sicker by the minute and crumpling twice along the way, I was now covered in dirt and gravel and my face was badly scraped.

My husband quickly retrieved me from the latrine and returned me to the trailer, where I proceeded to alternately vomit then shiver under the comforter.

At first, we chalked my symptoms up to food poisoning. After all, a sortie of flies had circled our dinner the night before and a gross number had landed in our meals.

But from my miserable fetal position a clearer picture began to emerge: my right side was swollen and tender.

A larger, more sinister menace suddenly loomed. It was time to get to the hospital. Now.

We piled into the truck — my body doubled over and my head still in the trash can — and sped off down the windy mountain road in search of medical assistance.

Ninety minutes later, we arrived at Adventist Health in Sonora, where our suspicions of acute appendicitis were confirmed. I was in surgery by 2 p.m.

My care in the hospital was terrific. Things dramatically improved once my appendix was evicted.

I was released from the hospital as scheduled on Sunday, the following day.

My brother and his wife had recently purchased a mountain cabin in nearby Pinecrest. They graciously invited us to recover there until I could make the six-hour trip back to San Luis Obispo.

We arrived Sunday afternoon and heaved a gentle, well-deserved sigh of relief.

But the trip gods still weren’t finished. They had one more prank up their sleeves.

At 2 p.m. the next day we were ordered to evacuate due to extreme fire danger. We packed up yet again and hit the road to places unknown.

At this point I felt a kinship with Joseph and Mary. If I used my imagination and tweaked some details — swapping out an emergency appendectomy for being great with child and switching our Toyota Tacoma for a jackass — there was no room for either of us at the inn. That Biblical couple had to flee after the birth of their baby, just as we had to vacate because of wildfires.

Our travel story has a happy ending.

We drove straight home from the mountains and I’m almost good as new. Still, the next time we entrust ourselves to an adventure, we’d prefer it take us someplace else.