I’m afraid my camping days could be behind me unless I’m willing to go alone.
I used to have a camping buddy who would meet me at a state park more or less halfway between our houses. We’d pitch a tent, get a fire going, eat good food, and explore the nature of reality. (We also told jokes about breaking wind.)
It was rainy the last time. We had a fire going but had to huddle under a tarp.
I used the word “had,” which was true for him. He kept offering to call an Uber to take us to a hotel.
“I’ll pay,” he said.
“What about my stuff?” I said.
He shrugged.
If it was only up to me, I’d say we “got” to huddle under the tarp. It was such a tiny hardship to endure when compared to how comfortable the rest of life can be.
We weren’t camping in the snow or climbing Mount Everest. We got slightly wet when getting cans of liquid refreshment from the cooler.
But I have to accept that his take on camping is widely shared by others. It’s not him, it’s me.
I could go camping by myself, but that would involve climbing into the attic and moving a bunch of stuff to reach my gear.
And for what?
Much of the fun of camping is spending time with other people.
If I go by myself, I’d probably get into a fight and say words that I couldn’t take back. I’d hate to make a long-term enemy of myself. It’s best to have someone willing to act as a buffer, so I don’t get too irritated with myself.
Luckily for me, myself and I, there’s a ready replacement for camping, which is staying at the house.
The chill in the air and the pop of my knees tell me a front has moved through town. When the temperature gets below 50 degrees, my fireplace draws wonderfully.
But that wasn’t enough for me the other night. We hadn’t planned on grilling, but I lit the coals outside and cooked up a few chicken breasts.
As I was moving from the fire inside to the fire outside, I realized I was recreating some of my favorite camping activities.
One difference was I had the game on TV rather than listening to it on the radio. I also had a soft bed waiting as well as a bathroom and hot shower at the ready.
So, no, I wasn’t camping, but I was having fun.
From what you’ve read so far, you might think I’m a simple man with simple pleasures. That isn’t the case. I only aspire to be a simple man with simple pleasures. If I actually were one, I wouldn’t argue with myself as much as I do.
(I don’t argue with myself that much.)
To be honest, I don’t really think my camping days are over because the idea of never spending another night at a campsite makes me shiver.
I suspect I’ll eventually persuade someone to pitch the tent, tend the fire, eat good food, and explore the nature of reality with me. (And also tell jokes about breaking wind.)
We’ll wake up the next morning with full bladders, sore backs and a renewed appreciation for the comforts of home.
I’ll come back to the house, stuff my gear in the attic and remember that, if I want to experience the great outdoors, I can always fire up the grill.
