Pokin went to Panama with her forum. She brought me. Smart.
She also brought Chestnut. Unnecessary.
The Waldorf. Travel companions. One essential, one decorative.
Nicholas wasn’t on this trip because he somehow felt his brotherly duty of building a bathroom for his sister was more important than quality time with me. Whatever. His loss.
This was Pokin’s second time at the Panama Canal, which apparently helps with the retention of useless engineering facts. She got an insider’s tour of the Miraflores Locks control tower, heard the whole history again, and came back full of opinions about lock chambers and water levels.
The Miraflores Locks. Built in 1913. Still working.
The original control console is still there. Brass gauges, GE dials, manual switches. They built the thing that connects two oceans and operated it with equipment that looks like it belongs in a submarine from a movie.
The original controls. Brass and glass and no touchscreens.A ship doing the thing. Barely fits.
Engineering marvel. Genuinely impressive. I respect anything that was built over a hundred years ago and still works exactly as intended. More than I can say for most apps.
Then Pokin went down a rabbit hole. A literal bean rabbit hole.
Geisha beans. The most expensive coffee beans in the world that haven’t been pooped out by an animal. (Excuse me? There are coffee beans that get pooped out by an animal? I have follow-up questions, but I’m choosing not to ask them.)
Here’s the thing about Geisha beans: they’re originally from Gesha, Ethiopia. Named after a Japanese word. Grown on the hills of Panama. A bean from Africa named in Japanese grown in Central America and sold for absurd amounts of money. Globalization is weird.
Naturally, Pokin wanted to buy some for Nicholas.
And went a little overboard.
A ’little’ overboard.
Multiple bags of Geisha beans. Altieri Typica. Specialty everything. And then, because we were in cacao country, a mountain of Panama chocolate. Mahogany Chocolate. I Love Panama Chocolate. Raspao. Something from Barú.
I want it on the record that I was there specifically for the chocolate procurement. The coffee was Pokin’s thing. The chocolate was bear business.
Nicholas eventually finished his bathroom project and came home. This is what was waiting for him.
A brand new coffee maker. Premium beans. A whole setup.
And someone had found it first.
Oh no.
Peep. On the coffee maker. Already claimed it.
Of course. OF COURSE. You leave fancy Geisha beans unattended for five minutes and the yellow menace materializes on the machine like he was summoned by the aroma. He doesn’t even have hands. How did he get up there? HOW?
Nobody is safe from Peep when coffee is involved. Nobody.
Most people pick a cruise based on destinations. How many islands, how many beaches, how much snorkeling.
Nicholas and Pokin picked this one because it had the least amount of shore days relative to total trip length. Maximum time at sea. Minimum distractions. The Emerald Princess, Long Beach to Hawaii and back, over Christmas.
It’s a work retreat that happens to float.
He claimed the only table within thirty seconds of boarding.
There is one table in the cabin. One. It was fully colonized before I’d even found my spot on the bed.
Chestnut was invited. Don’t get used to it.
Since it was Christmas, I was feeling generous. Chestnut got to come. He had not earned it.
We set sail from Long Beach. Golden hour on the balcony, a naval ship parked next door, and five days of open ocean ahead before landfall.
The whole crew was on this one. Five adults and a bear on a floating office building. Perfect.
First formal dinner. Santa hats already circulating.
Kahului, Maui. Those green mountains have no right looking that good at seven in the morning.
Nicholas rented a car and drove us to Iao Valley. Massive green peaks shooting straight up like someone forgot to add foothills.
The whole group made it out for this one.
The aquarium was actually good. Nobody was more surprised than me.
The Maui Ocean Center turned out to be worth the stop. A Sylvia Earle quote on the wall tried to make us feel things about the ocean. Pass. But the fish were cool.
Then Pokin needed shave ice.
Shave ice number one. She was already planning number two.
Ululani’s. This would not be the last shave ice of the trip. Not even close.
We stopped at some plantation. It was fine. I was hot.
And then, because this is Pokin’s world and we’re all just living in it:
We sailed 2,400 miles across the Pacific to go to Costco.
The Maui Costco. Five days by sea to buy macadamia nuts in bulk. The cart was already half full. I don’t know what I expected.
Maui at least had the decency to send us off with a proper sky.
Back on the ship, it was time for the important business.
Nobody remembered to bring Christmas stuff. Dollar store to the rescue.
Nobody packed anything for Christmas. So naturally, someone found a dollar store at port and went absolutely feral. Stockings, gag gifts, a rubber chicken. The bed could barely hold it all.
I got a stocking. Chestnut got a stocking. Chestnut also got… this.
A ‘pudding pony.’ I have questions that I don’t want answers to.
A little horse figurine under a dome. A pudding pony, apparently. Chestnut was delighted. I remain confused, disgusted, and mildly concerned for everyone involved in its creation.
Fully operational.
Nicholas covered himself in Disney stickers, then transferred them to the door. Our little corner of the Emerald Princess was officially festive.
After days of small towns and plantation stops, Honolulu finally felt like a real city. Skyscrapers right up against green mountains, the old Aloha Tower on the waterfront where ships have been pulling in since the 1920s, and actual traffic. Honolulu has been the capital of Hawaii since the kingdom days, and you can feel the weight of it from the deck.
Duke was wearing more leis than a gift shop.
We did the Waikiki Beach walk. Princess Cruises tote bags in hand because subtlety was never part of the plan.
And then:
Lost count. Somewhere around number four.
At this point, the official mission of the Hawaii cruise had quietly shifted from “productive work retreat” to “find Pokin more shave ice.” Every island, every port, the first thing she’d look up was where to get it. Which, honestly, fair. And yes, it’s “shave ice,” not “shaved ice.” In Hawaii, calling it “shaved ice” is how you announce you just got off a plane from the mainland. The tradition goes back to the early 1900s, brought over by Japanese plantation workers who shaved blocks of ice and topped them with fruit juice. The local version now piles on condensed milk, azuki beans, mochi, whatever fits. It’s not a snow cone. Pokin would want that on the record.
Here’s the thing about this cruise. Nicholas spent half of it like this:
The man brought AR glasses to use as a monitor. On a cruise. At sea.
AR glasses turning the open air into a double-wide display. We’re docked in Kauai and he’s on the porch working. The whole concept of “pick the cruise with the fewest shore days” suddenly made perfect sense.
I’d judge him, but I was sitting inside next to the door watching, so who’s really winning here.
Princess Cruises does the thing where photographers ambush you at every port.
Excuse me. Who is that.
Kahului. December 20, 2025. Emerald Princess life ring. And in MY spot, wearing a sailor cap and a lei, is some other bear. A Princess Cruises house bear. A scab. Everyone’s smiling like this is fine. It is not fine.
Crown Grill. The fancy one.
The Emerald Princess pulled back into Long Beach after eleven days. Nicholas got his sea days. Pokin got her shave ice on every island. Chestnut got a pudding pony. I got replaced by a house bear in an official photo and I’m not over it.
Here’s how this happened. Drew calls Nicholas on a Wednesday night. “Hey, I’m going to be stuck at a resort in Kauai for a few days with an extra bed. Want to come hang out?” When? “Friday.” Like, the day after tomorrow Friday? “Yeah.”
So Nicholas booked last-minute tickets to Hawaii. Obviously I was going. Bud trip means all buds. That’s not even a question.
For context, Drew is a pilot. Sometimes he ends up at a hotel for a few days between flights. This time, the hotel happened to be in Kauai. So basically, Drew got a free resort vacation and Nicholas got a free resort room, and I got shoved in a carry-on. Everybody wins.
The Sheraton Kauai Coconut Beach Resort. Not a bad place to get shoved.
We checked into the Sheraton Kauai Coconut Beach Resort, and I immediately claimed my territory. Balcony with an ocean view. Hammock on the lawn. The bed, obviously.
My spot. Claimed.
The front desk gave Nicholas a shell lei. I immediately took it, because it was obviously meant for me and the staff just made a mistake. Rude. Nicholas knows how things work around here. I wore it the entire trip. It really tied the whole look together.
Aloha. I am here now.Bud and bud at the beach.
If I fits, I swings.
The plan for the trip was simple: wake up, go explore Kauai, come back to the resort, and play video games on laptops until way too late. The kind of trip that only happens when it’s just the buds.
We started the morning with a waterfall, because apparently that’s what you do in Kauai.
Fine. It’s pretty. I said it.
Then we ran into the locals.
Kauai has a wild chicken problem. Or, depending on your perspective, a wild chicken feature.
Kauai is famous for its feral chickens. They’re everywhere. Just strutting around like they own the place. Roosters crowing at 4 AM. Hens blocking parking lots. Total chaos. Honestly, I respect the energy. These chickens answer to nobody. They’ve been free-range since Hurricane Iniki blew open all the coops in 1992 and they just… never went back. Thirty years of unsupervised chicken freedom. Living the dream.
We drove south along the coast and found some seriously dramatic cliffs.
Not a bad office view for a bunch of chickens.The two buds. Drew is the one who looks like he’s been flying planes across the Pacific. Because he has.
That’s Drew on the right. He doesn’t like being in photos much, which is why this is basically the only proof he was on this trip. Three buds went to Hawaii. One of them is a ghost.
Then we headed up to Waimea Canyon, which they call the Grand Canyon of the Pacific. It’s not as big as the actual Grand Canyon, but it makes up for it by being green instead of brown. And you don’t have to drive to Arizona.
The Grand Canyon of the Pacific. Smaller. Greener. Better snacks nearby.Bear at the canyon.
Last day, so we went the other direction. North shore.
First stop was Kilauea Lighthouse. Nicholas took this one specifically for his mom, because she loves lighthouses. I’m just here for the photo op.
For Nicholas’s mom. She collects lighthouse photos the way I collect hotel beds.
Then we hiked the Okolehao Trail above Hanalei, which goes straight up a ridge and gives you this view:
Hanalei Bay from above. The kind of view that makes you forget you just hiked straight uphill for an hour.Trail complete. Where’s my medal.
The whole trip was three days. Drew had a free room. Nicholas had no plans. I had a shell lei and an ocean view. We hiked, we explored, we played video games until an unreasonable hour every night, and then Drew had to go fly a plane somewhere and we had to go home.
Not a bad way to spend a long weekend. More bud trips like this, please.
Every year the question is the same. “What should we be for Halloween?”
Every year Nicholas has the answer.
This year’s answer: Expedition 33.
For those not living their best gaming life, Expedition 33 is a gorgeous RPG where a team of misfits sets out on an impossible mission across a painted continent. Nicholas would be Gustave, the expedition leader. Pokin would be Lune, the elegant sharpshooter. And me?
Esquie.
The most powerful being in the world. Can soar through the heavens. Can dive beneath the sea. Beloved by children everywhere. Also, canonically lazy.
I have never felt so seen by a video game character. Except that last part.
Now, Pokin doesn’t do simple. She found actual sewing patterns online with instructions for crafting the Expedition 33 shoulder patches from scratch. We’re talking piping, lining, and real gold leaf patterning. Hand-applied. On black fabric. Like we’re tailors in 18th-century France.
Nicholas had to cut out the intricate designs on the Cricut.
Carefully peeling the transfer. He only swore twice at this point.
Then came the piping. Gold fabric pinned to black, every edge precise.
Then the gold leaf. By hand. Press, peel, pray.
The gold leaf phase. Also known as the ‘why did I agree to this’ phase.
The workspace looked like a craft store exploded in the living room. Sewing machine, spools of metallic thread, gold fragments everywhere. Nicholas was finding gold flakes in his hair for a week.
But the results? Not too shabby at all.
Gustave, Lune, and a K-pop demon hunter. PoOn committed.
The costumes actually looked incredible. The gold leaf shoulder patches, the dark jackets, the whole vibe. Nicholas’s Gustave coat with the purple vest underneath was especially good. Pokin’s Lune outfit with the white ruffled shirt and face markings? She went all in.
And then there was me.
The most powerful being in the world. Obviously.
Custom Expedition 33 headband patch, handmade by Nicholas himself. I looked magnificent.
We hosted the party at Bear Falls Resort, naturally. My bud’s mom flew down from Oregon for it. She came as a flamingo because she loves flamingos. I respect a woman who knows her brand.
The expedition party picks up an unusual recruit.
Outside, Pokin had Nicholas set up this giant inflatable Halloween tree in the yard. It has a screaming face, clawed branches, and glowing orange eyes. It looks like something that would eat you in The Witcher.
I love it.
New yard guardian. He stays up year-round if I have any say in it.
Pokin and PoOn spent days prepping food for the party, because of course they did. Hand-drawn ghost cookies. Cakes that had no business looking that good at a Halloween party. And the highlight: cake pops. Pumpkins, zombies, and mummies, all hand-decorated. The girls baked them, Nicholas helped with the dipping and decorating.
Black Sesame Red Bean Butter Mochi at a Halloween party. Just look at those cakes. Pokin’s food game is unmatched.
Those mummy ones with the googly eyes? Perfect. The zombie ones were green and unsettling in the best way. And the pumpkin ones had little pretzel stems, which is the kind of detail that makes you realize these people take dessert as seriously as I do.
Bruce had been working out of the home office for weeks, and we’d already dragged him to Bryce Canyon and Zion. But we weren’t done with him yet. Nicholas, Pokin, and Bruce loaded up the car and headed west toward the Sierra Nevada.
The destination: Big Pine Lakes, a chain of turquoise glacial lakes tucked into a granite amphitheater beneath Temple Crag. The plan: start early, hike the full loop to all the lakes, come home heroes. The reality: slightly different.
The trail was supposed to be hot, so they started before dawn. Which meant it was actually cold. The kind of cold where you question why you agreed to this while stumbling up a trail in the dark.
Three hikers, zero visibility, maximum commitment.
But then the Sierra did its thing.
First light on the peaks. The valley floor still in shadow. Worth the alarm.
The alpenglow on the high Sierra is something else. The peaks go from gray to orange to gold while you’re still hiking in shade. It’s like the mountains are showing off.
Sunlight creeping down the canyon. Still freezing.Pokin leading the charge.
The Big Pine Lakes trail climbs about 2,000 feet over four and a half miles to the first lake, then keeps going through a chain of seven lakes. The full loop is somewhere around 15 miles. They were going to do all of it.
I rode in Nicholas’s pack. Anti-bath technology deployed. Hoodie up.
Trail ready. Hoodie engaged.
The trail starts in sagebrush and pine, crosses a creek with some spectacular dead standing trees, and then gets into serious granite switchback territory.
That color is real. Glacial flour from the Palisade Glacier, the southernmost glacier in the US.
The Big Pine Lakes are turquoise. Not blue, not green. Turquoise. The color comes from rock flour, basically pulverized granite dust ground up by what’s left of the Palisade Glacier and suspended in the water. It looks fake. It looks like someone poured food coloring into a mountain.
Temple Crag. 13,000 feet of granite and attitude.
Temple Crag dominates the whole basin. A massive wall of vertical granite with buttresses and couloirs that looks like it belongs in a fantasy game, not California. I’ve seen a lot of mountains on this blog. This one is up there.
The view from above the basin. The turquoise just keeps going.My bud and me. Temple Crag doing the heavy lifting in the background.
Bear at the lake.Nicholas and Pokin. Looking appropriately small.All three at the lake. Bruce still has functioning knees at this point.
Bruce found a perfectly round boulder perched on a granite slab and decided it needed a photo.
Bruce vs. boulder. Gym training finally relevant.
I got my own photo series at the lake, because priorities.
The plan was to do the full loop, hitting all seven lakes. They made it to a few and then took an early loop back. Smart call. Nicholas and Pokin, who hike regularly, were going strong. Bruce is a gym guy. Very fit, very strong, could probably carry me and Nicholas up a flight of stairs without breathing hard. But gym fit and trail fit are different animals. Long-distance hiking at altitude doesn’t care how much you can bench press. His knees were done.
No shame in that. The trail gained 2,000 feet and the altitude hits different when you’re from sea level in Colombia. They still covered serious ground, saw the best of the lakes, and got to stare at Temple Crag for a few hours. That’s a win.
Moon rising over the highway. Not a bad way to end a summer.
Eventually Bruce headed back to Colombia with busted knees and a phone full of photos. A summer of Bryce Canyon, Zion twice, and the Sierra Nevada. Not bad for a work visit.
Day two of the Bruce visit. After Bryce (where I was cruelly left behind), we headed back to Zion. Our usual routine: bike the canyon, hike the Narrows, stay at the Cliffrose.
This time, I came along.
My bud and me. Yes, the Assassin’s Creed outfit. Anti-bath technology.
The Cliffrose is our spot in Springdale. It’s right at the entrance to Zion, the grounds back up to the canyon walls, and the views from the patio are the kind of thing that makes you briefly forget you’re paying lodge prices.
The patio view. Not bad for a place that isn’t a motel.
Chestnut came too. He was very excited. He’s always very excited.
First up: biking the Zion Canyon Scenic Drive. Cars aren’t allowed past a certain point in the park, so it’s either the shuttle or a bike. We bike. It’s better.
The crew at the Court of the Patriarchs.Alone on the road. Canyon walls for company.
Back at the Cliffrose that evening, we had visitors.
Deer. On the lawn. At sunset. With Zion behind them. I mean, come on.
The deer at the Cliffrose have zero fear. They walk right up to the rooms, graze on the lawn, bring their fawns. They’ve figured out that lodge guests are harmless and usually have cameras.
Nicholas and I, observing the locals.Our evening posts. Chestnut took the left chair without asking.
Dinner was in Springdale. Good food, better backdrop.
Dinner with a view.
And then the sky did its thing. Perfect clear night, Milky Way fully visible. Nicholas, Bruce, and Pokin stayed up experimenting with phone cameras, wishing they’d brought the real ones.
The Milky Way over Zion. Phone cameras. Not bad for amateurs.
Zion in August. Biking, hiking, deer on the lawn, stars over the canyon. Not a bad day in bear territory.
We’d barely recovered from Pokong’s visit when the next houseguest arrived. Bruce, one of Nicholas’s engineers from Colombia, came up to spend the summer working out of the home office. Nicholas figured if the team had a tight deadline, they might as well grind it out together. In person. In Las Vegas. In August.
And if you’re going to have a coworker from Colombia staying at your house, you take him to Bryce Canyon. You take Bruce to Bryce. It’s right there. You have to.
The crew was Nicholas, Pokin, Bruce, Po On, and Eric. They picked a quieter loop trail so they wouldn’t be fighting crowds the whole way. Smart.
I was not invited on this hike.
I’m choosing to believe this was for my own protection. The sun. The elevation. My delicate constitution. Definitely not an oversight.
This is what they saw without me.
The hoodoos at Bryce are those tall, skinny rock spires that look like someone stacked a city out of orange sandstone and forgot to add streets. Thousands of them, packed into an amphitheater, glowing different colors depending on where the sun hits.
Five hikers, zero bears. Noted.Nicholas and Pokin, doing the couple-at-a-viewpoint thing.
They started on the Fairyland Trail, which despite the name has no fairies and no bears. Disappointing on both counts.
The trail drops down into the canyon and winds through the hoodoos. Hardly anyone else on it.
Not bad, I guess.
The scenery at Bryce just keeps going. Every direction, more hoodoos, more layers, more orange. It’s the kind of place where you stop taking photos because you realize every single one looks the same and also incredible.
The buddy system.
There are some natural arches along the way that frame the canyon like windows.
Nature’s picture frame.
And then there are the trees. The pines at Bryce hang on to the canyon rim with exposed roots gripping bare rock like they’re holding on for dear life. Which they are. The ground is literally eroding out from under them.
Tenacity.This tree has been through some things.Bruce, bonding with a ponderosa. They smell like vanilla, apparently.
Once you’re down in the canyon among the hoodoos, the scale hits different. They tower over you. The colors shift from orange to pink to white depending on the layer. It looks like walking through a very old, very tall, very orange city that nobody built.
Down among the spires.
And of course, the jump photos. You can’t go to a national park without jump photos. It’s a rule.
Airborne.
Everyone survived. The bear would have also survived, for the record.Pokin, Nicholas, and Bruce. Looking pleased with themselves.
Bryce Canyon. No crowds, no bears, no problems. Bruce got to see something that doesn’t exist in Colombia. Nicholas got to take Bruce to Bryce, which I suspect was the real reason for this entire trip.
If you’re going to show someone America, you don’t start with strip malls and fast food. You start with a canyon so deep it makes you feel like a speck. PoOn and Eric came along too, because Pokin’s family travels in packs.
The Yeung siblings, already sweating.
We stopped at Valley of Fire on the way out. Red rocks, blue sky, 110 degrees. Classic Nevada welcome. Then we drove to Springdale to set up camp near Zion.
The Cliffrose. Pokin wants you to know it was super expensive.
Next morning, everyone geared up. Rented the canyoneering boots. Rented the walking sticks. The Narrows requires you to literally walk through a river inside a canyon, and the rental shop knows it.
Five people, five walking sticks, varying levels of enthusiasm.
And then we went in.
Everyone still smiling. The water hasn’t gotten deep yet.
The Narrows is one of those hikes where the trail IS the river. You’re wading through the Virgin River with canyon walls towering on either side. It starts ankle deep. It does not stay ankle deep.
At first everyone hiked together. Then Nicholas and Eric took off, leaving the Yeung siblings to go at their own pace. As one does.
Right before Nicholas took off.The Yeung pace. Steady. Scenic. Slower.
Deeper in, the canyon gets serious. The walls close in, the light gets weird, and you start to understand why people fly across the world to walk through a river.
My bud, doing the thing.
We were not the only ones with this idea.
Half of America had the same Fourth of July plan.
The group also went biking through the park, because apparently walking through a river for hours wasn’t enough exercise.
The next day, everyone was trying to figure out what to do. Nicholas didn’t like the plans. So Nicholas took over.
Two guys at a ghost town. The ghost town has better fashion.
He found a ghost town. An actual abandoned pioneer settlement with a schoolhouse and log cabins and everything. Pokong seemed cautiously impressed, in the way that someone from Shenzhen looks at a 150-year-old wooden building and thinks “we’d have replaced this by now.”
Then we saw dinosaur tracks. Real ones. In the ground. Labeled and everything.
Grallator, Batrachopus, and Baby Dino. I outrank all of them.My natural habitat. Warm. Dry. No water.
And then, because the day wasn’t full enough, Nicholas found a cave.
Pokong, underground, wondering how he got here.Three guys in a hole. Living their best life.
The desert out here does not mess around.
Po On showing me the desert. I have opinions about the heat.
Pokong did get his two requests. Nicholas took him shooting. From what I heard, the guns scared the absolute bejesus out of him. Nobody got hurt, which is apparently the bar for a successful shooting range visit.
The Cybertruck driving happened too. PoOn came out for that. There was a photoshoot. I’m told it was very cool. I wouldn’t know, because nobody brought me.
But the real American experience? That’s the food.
Tacos El Gordo. The true American dream.Also this. But mostly the tacos.
Pokong came to America for a Cybertruck and some guns. He got a canyon, a river, a ghost town, dinosaur bones, a cave, a bear, tacos, and the realization that Nicholas does not know how to plan a simple week.
Sesame Street did a collaboration with Gotham Greens. They put Sesame Street characters on salad packaging. Salad. The healthy thing. Leaves. You know.
Pokin thought it was cute and picked up the Cookie Monster one. Good choice. Responsible. A woman training for Everest Base Camp, buying lettuce. Her friends would be proud.
The lettuce lived in the fridge for about a week.
And for about a week, every time she opened the fridge, Cookie Monster stared back at her. Cookie Monster. On lettuce. The irony of putting the cookie guy on salad is not lost on me, a bear who understands that dessert is the superior meal category.
After seven days of psychological warfare from a plastic container, Pokin cracked.
She did not buy more salad.
Dinner.
Four full-sized Crumbl cookies. Not small ones. Not the minis. The big ones.
She ate them for dinner.
That was dinner. The whole dinner. Four cookies from a pink box on the kitchen counter where the salad used to be. Cookie Monster won.
Her friend Davey called it rock bottom. Chestnut called it “concerning.” I call it the most relatable thing Pokin has done all year.
The salad, for what it’s worth, did eventually get eaten. But not that night. That night belonged to the cookies.
The Roborock Saros Z70. A robot vacuum with a retractable arm. An actual mechanical arm that reaches out, grabs objects off the floor, and moves them. Pokin saw this at CES and had to have one.
Nicholas was less thrilled. “This thing is stupid,” he said, which is what he says about every gadget right before it permanently lives in the house.
The arm picks up socks, shoes, small objects. Anything under 300 grams. It relocates them out of its cleaning path with the confidence of something that has never once questioned whether it should be doing this.
It nearly touches the ceiling. It weighs 600 pounds. It’s never leaving.
The same week, a StairMaster arrived. A full commercial-grade stair climber. For EBC training.
The logistics were a nightmare. Multiple movers turned down the job. Someone finally agreed, and they wrestled it into the bedroom. It barely fits. It nearly touches the ceiling. It weighs roughly 600 pounds.
The StairMaster was a little wobbly on the tile, so Nicholas temporarily stuck a rag under one of the legs to stabilize it.
You can probably see where this is going.
It found the rag. It wanted the rag. It was not going to stop.
The Roborock found the rag.
It decided the rag needed to be moved. It extended its arm, grabbed the rag, and pulled. The StairMaster did not move. The Roborock did not care. It locked in. Lifted itself off the ground. Pulled harder. The arm was fully committed to removing this rag from under a 600-pound machine that was not going anywhere.
Nicholas had to physically pry the robot away. It did not want to let go.
This was not an isolated incident. The robot also decided to rearrange shoes into what I can only describe as a fairy ring. In the process, it kept jamming its own arm into furniture above it, because the arm extends upward and the robot has no concept of overhead clearance.
It raised its arm and jammed itself under a table. Stuck. Again.
Pokin loves it. Nicholas wants to put it in a closet. I’m staying on the desk where it can’t reach me.
