My defenses were low. Civilization, or want of it, had worn me down. Lest I overindulge, I fled the happy bar and arrived at my campsite 10 minutes later.
I loathe reservations. I loathe online reservations. I’d much prefer free dispersed camping. But I had to admit reservations were handy this time. I rolled past the unattended gate booth, ignored a complex self check-in kiosk, and drove straight to “Tent Site 11B” on the “Forgettably Named Campground.” It was one of two campgrounds in “Generic State Park”; nestled in the embrace of “Average National Forest.”
It took me a bit to back my huge truck, with it’s tiny trailer, into the spot. A kid on a bike pedaled down the road I’d blocked. “I can wait.” He cheerfully offered while I maneuvered.
Such patience! Would that all adults emulate such civility.
By now I was really dragging. I felt like lying on the dirt right then. The mosquitoes would’ve liked that!
12:26. That’s pretty good! As an experiment, I timed myself setting up camp. Just under twelve and a half minutes to setup a Gazelle T4 tent (full rainfly installed, staked every possible point) and furnish it with a Teton XXL cot, Teton XXL mattress, and a sleeping bag. That’s “no bullshit” setup time. It was prepared like a hotel room, with a pillow and everything. I could have done it faster if I’d been in better condition.
Essentials managed, I stumbled down to the lake. En route, I found potable tap water and marveled at the ease of “mellow camping.” I was a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t imagined on-site water. I had a water filter in my pocket. I’d been planning to drink lake water like a fucking animal.
The lake was gorgeous. Sunset was nigh and it was “smack me on the forehead and call me uncle Mike” pretty. I sat there until it was dark.
Back at camp the mosquitoes were heavy. Of three Thermacells, only one functioned. Luckily, one was enough.
I took one sip… I mean it, just one sip of whiskey. Boom! I was done. All the accumulated stress was coming out at once. 2020 was a bad burrito I can’t digest.
It hit me like a baseball bat to the head; 2021 is five months into not being any better than the shitstorm that proceeded it.
This isn’t getting better.
Sitting on my chair, watching a little fire of processed pallet stock I was like “come up or go down, but do something.” I ditched dinner plans and opted for a self-heating MRE. It tasted fine and I even liked the enclosed lemonade mix. Nothing came up. Nothing went down. I turned in soon after.
The campsite was silent. Loons on the lake cried in lust. My cot was pure luxury (as always). Yet, I suffered. Stress worked through my system. Mind racing, stomach weak, sore back, aching legs, knotted shoulders… all of it simply the stress of a shitty experience. It started when “two weeks to flatten the curve” unleashed witch hunters in my world and it hasn’t yet ended. The nation didn’t just fail a “Jews in the attic” experiment; it gleefully ratted them out and shot itself in the head during the celebration.
Uneasy rest led to uneasy dreams which led to a quiet dawn. I hadn’t slept well but I awoke with greater peace. Perhaps I’ll never digest the whole thing but I suppose every dawn is a new life. At the very least, I’d seen joyous mask-free revelers and subsequently laid still. A bad moment had passed.
I spent all morning percolating coffee over pallet wood and thanking my lucky stars I wouldn’t have to return to “society” for a while.
