Riding home from a camping trip, I have way too much time to review the whole outdoor scenario.
First, my body takes its revenge. Before vacation, it sat for months, completing a novel. Now, after days of hiking, cycling and kayaking — all just to reach the bathroom — my achy-breaky physique rebels. When inserted into a pickup, it freezes in sitting position.
When we stop for supper, Hubby pries me out with a kayak paddle.
Though near journey’s end, we’ve chosen to eat out of town, so no one will recognize us. However, we have a sneaking suspicion our lunchtime fast-food place in Illinois posted an all-points Internet alert about us. Every restaurant we’ve approached this evening has put out a bait shop sign. Then locked its doors.
We took showers while camping, though given their condition, I wondered if we were adding layers, rather than washing them off. After riding 200 miles with 23 bags of dirty laundry, maybe we’ve absorbed their ambiance?
“Do I smell funny?” I ask my dearly beloved.
“No, you’re good.”
He’s good, too. I worry too much.
Hubby glares as one more restaurant pulls down its shades. “What’s with these people?”
When we open the truck doors at home, however, our shrubbery wilts. We realize the sad truth: while it’s good that we accept each other, camping smells included, others may deposit us into the nearest landfill. Thus, after we unload, two-hour showers follow.
We’re recovering, but after several days at home, we still:
- Search the house for flashlights instead of flipping on lamps.
- Pore over Google maps to find grocery stores — when there’s one down the street.
- Feel uneasy driving a car that isn’t dragging a 3,000-pound camper behind it.
- Follow The Weather Channel as if it imparts the Gospel.
- Check the fridge to see if the ice is sufficient.
- Stir morning coffee with a plastic knife, forgetting a whole drawerful of silverware is available.
- Reorient ourselves each day to a house we don’t have to park.
Hubby must adapt once more to sleeping through the night without accompanying me to the bathroom as Chief Executor of Unwelcome Wildlife.
If out of clean underwear, we remind ourselves that we own a for-real laundry room. We don’t have to use a hairdryer to make emergency hand-washed items wearable.
Given all these adjustments, is camping worth it?
Yes! When we enter the woods, the Time Tyrant vanishes. Bacon-and-egg breakfasts taste 10 times better. The wonder of our world keeps us spellbound. Even a 3 a.m. bathroom hike treats us to the Creator’s moon-and-stars display that outshines any human-designed light show.
So, we’ll camp again. And again.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Have camping afterthoughts persuaded you to stop?