Into the Woods
So, this weekend I went camping with some friends. It as kind of a last-minute decision, I wasn’t sure if I was going to go and then I decided "I should go," so I went. Get it? I left with two friends after work, and intended up taking longer than we thought so we didn’t get to the campsite until around 10. A few of our friends were already there and we were then joined by our friends, Marco and Colleen. They got the weekend off to a good start by announcing that they were getting married. Congrats, Marco and Colleen! I’m looking forward to that bachelor party.
Now, I don’t camp too often, maybe a few times a year. My family never camped while I was growing up, so I didn’t start camping until I was into my 20’s. Suffice to say I am not terribly experienced at it, and am apparently a slow learner. My chief mistake is my theory that it is somehow beneficial to bring as little gear as possible. I do have a tent, sleeping bag, food, booze (of course), and that’s about it. There is some sense to this, as the less gear you bring, the less you have to shlep around. That being said, some creature comforts might have been nice. For example, seeing as how I was sleeping on rocks (not gravel, rocks), some sort of air mattress, or padding might have made my nights more comfortable, instead of painful. On a similar note, some sort of pillow might also have made sleeping easier. In terms of food, although hot dogs, peanut butter and granola bars will sustain your life, some more varied or tastier choices might have made meal-time more palatable. I suck at camping.
Fortunately, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. My friends brought a shitload of food and adopted a share and share alike attitude. Some of them even wanted my peanut butter. Hence, I was able to eat better than I deserved to, but sleeping was still a bitch. On the bright side, I had plenty of my medically prescribed sleep-aid; booze.
So the first night we stayed up long into the night, drinking, toasting the happy couple and reminiscing on our favorite Simpsons episodes. The next morning, my friend introduced me to a novel hangover drink; redeyes. They comprise one part clamato to two parts beer; it was kind of a nice way to get the morning started, although I still find clamato disgusting, beer or no. That afternoon, Colleen invited us to her parent’s cottage, which was conveniently close, where her father was eager to take out his new speedboat. So, I was introduced to the activity of ‘tubing,’ which basically involves tying a fancy inner tube to the back of the boat, and clinging tenaciously to said inner tube as Colleen’s father does his best to fling you off of it. Added to that, there were actually three of us, clinging to our respective tubes, bouncing and careening off of each other. It was intense, to say the least; the cap’n was going very fast, and making very hard turns. The thing is, if you relax your grip on the handles, you’ll go flying off, and if you relax your body in the tube, the water will smack your ass red. So you have to prop up your body and keep your ass up out of the body; basically every muscle in your body is clenched for the duration of the ride. It’s kind of exhausting, after a while I had no upper body strength left, and it was a bitch just climbing into the tube. Falling off was also kind of a trip, as you’d be going so fast that you’d skid across the water on your face for a while before you’d finally submerge. After, I don’t know, half an hour maybe? I felt like I’d had the shit kicked out of me. In a good way, though, it was a lot of fun.
That night, we had an insane dinner of steak, ribs, smokies, hot dogs, sausages and chicken wings. You could say that we all felt pretty full after all that. After the water sports in the afternoon, and the feast o’meat, everyone was pretty sluggish, and the night kind of petered out. Colleen’s father was kind enough to donate 24 bottles of beer (I love this guy!), which we made a valiant effort to consume, but ultimately we were bested.
Something weird happened both mornings; I was asleep in my tent, and I dreamed that I was asleep in my tent, hearing my friends talking outside. Both mornings, I woke up, thought my dream was real, and got up to find everyone still asleep. Fucking dreams! Also, the dude sleeping in the tent next to me reported, with some vehemence, that I snore like a motherfucker. For some reason, I had no sympathy for him.
Sunday morning, everyone felt stiff as hell, but we still attempted to go back for more. Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, the water was too choppy to take the boat out, so we had to resort to swimming. We were all sore, tired and sunburned, so we headed back to the city in the afternoon. On the drive home, I surreptitiously started drinking from a bottle of leftover wine. I thought my friends would be annoyed that I was drinking in the car, putting us at risk of attracting Johnny Law. When they busted me? "You have wine and you’re not sharing!?" I do love my friends.
Now, I don’t camp too often, maybe a few times a year. My family never camped while I was growing up, so I didn’t start camping until I was into my 20’s. Suffice to say I am not terribly experienced at it, and am apparently a slow learner. My chief mistake is my theory that it is somehow beneficial to bring as little gear as possible. I do have a tent, sleeping bag, food, booze (of course), and that’s about it. There is some sense to this, as the less gear you bring, the less you have to shlep around. That being said, some creature comforts might have been nice. For example, seeing as how I was sleeping on rocks (not gravel, rocks), some sort of air mattress, or padding might have made my nights more comfortable, instead of painful. On a similar note, some sort of pillow might also have made sleeping easier. In terms of food, although hot dogs, peanut butter and granola bars will sustain your life, some more varied or tastier choices might have made meal-time more palatable. I suck at camping.
Fortunately, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. My friends brought a shitload of food and adopted a share and share alike attitude. Some of them even wanted my peanut butter. Hence, I was able to eat better than I deserved to, but sleeping was still a bitch. On the bright side, I had plenty of my medically prescribed sleep-aid; booze.
So the first night we stayed up long into the night, drinking, toasting the happy couple and reminiscing on our favorite Simpsons episodes. The next morning, my friend introduced me to a novel hangover drink; redeyes. They comprise one part clamato to two parts beer; it was kind of a nice way to get the morning started, although I still find clamato disgusting, beer or no. That afternoon, Colleen invited us to her parent’s cottage, which was conveniently close, where her father was eager to take out his new speedboat. So, I was introduced to the activity of ‘tubing,’ which basically involves tying a fancy inner tube to the back of the boat, and clinging tenaciously to said inner tube as Colleen’s father does his best to fling you off of it. Added to that, there were actually three of us, clinging to our respective tubes, bouncing and careening off of each other. It was intense, to say the least; the cap’n was going very fast, and making very hard turns. The thing is, if you relax your grip on the handles, you’ll go flying off, and if you relax your body in the tube, the water will smack your ass red. So you have to prop up your body and keep your ass up out of the body; basically every muscle in your body is clenched for the duration of the ride. It’s kind of exhausting, after a while I had no upper body strength left, and it was a bitch just climbing into the tube. Falling off was also kind of a trip, as you’d be going so fast that you’d skid across the water on your face for a while before you’d finally submerge. After, I don’t know, half an hour maybe? I felt like I’d had the shit kicked out of me. In a good way, though, it was a lot of fun.
That night, we had an insane dinner of steak, ribs, smokies, hot dogs, sausages and chicken wings. You could say that we all felt pretty full after all that. After the water sports in the afternoon, and the feast o’meat, everyone was pretty sluggish, and the night kind of petered out. Colleen’s father was kind enough to donate 24 bottles of beer (I love this guy!), which we made a valiant effort to consume, but ultimately we were bested.
Something weird happened both mornings; I was asleep in my tent, and I dreamed that I was asleep in my tent, hearing my friends talking outside. Both mornings, I woke up, thought my dream was real, and got up to find everyone still asleep. Fucking dreams! Also, the dude sleeping in the tent next to me reported, with some vehemence, that I snore like a motherfucker. For some reason, I had no sympathy for him.
Sunday morning, everyone felt stiff as hell, but we still attempted to go back for more. Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, the water was too choppy to take the boat out, so we had to resort to swimming. We were all sore, tired and sunburned, so we headed back to the city in the afternoon. On the drive home, I surreptitiously started drinking from a bottle of leftover wine. I thought my friends would be annoyed that I was drinking in the car, putting us at risk of attracting Johnny Law. When they busted me? "You have wine and you’re not sharing!?" I do love my friends.
posted by Dash Bradley at 2:13 PM
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