I was at a generic National Forest Campsite. I wanted to “dispersed camp” which usually has me absolutely alone. But had wisely lowered my ambitions when the pack-up and drive out phase of the trip had gone into extra innings.
At camp, people did as people always do and got up before me. Humans are herd animals. I could hear them warbling to each other and clattering about. It sounded like a thousand morons all trying to fold wet tents at once… which is basically what it was. Somewhere a cranky infant cried as it was hustled out of bed and packed into a car.
I got up and looked outside. It was foggy. There was drizzle and intermittent little showers. It was maybe 40 degrees (I didn’t bring a thermometer). Everything was soaked with dew or rain. Even inside my tent there was a certain degree of condensation on the walls. Anyone trying to make breakfast in this slop would be soaked in minutes. People around me were trying to shake off tents and stuff them in cars… they’d almost certainly have to dry out their gear in their respective garages that evening.
I was mildly hungover. Fuck this! I pissed on a bush and went back into my tent.
The clammy refrigerator feel was not at all to my liking. I felt worn out and my joints ached. I decided to light a fire in my little stove. I’d never used the stove in temperatures above 20. I was worried it would roast me out.
There’s a bit of a learning curve to use the stove. Don’t get me wrong, the stove is amazing! Great quality, superb design, but using it is a skill that takes practice (just like any other task). For one thing, the stove’s front opening is like 10” high. That seems hardly noticeable when you’re playing around with new gear but let me tell you, when you’re hung over in a foggy cold morning you don’t want to be shoving your head down near the wet grass. (I had removed the tent’s zip out floor.)
I stuffed pallet wood into the firebox. I lit it in a half assed way but it didn’t catch. No way was I going to roam around the campground looking for kindling; pine needles or whatever. I might meet people. I was in no condition to make eye contact with wet shitheads who made noise to wake me up. Instead, I threw in a handful of potato chips.
That did it! She caught and soon there was a merry fire. The draft was excellent. I throttled it down and fiddled with the tent’s windows. How much to open and how much to close? I had no idea. Meanwhile fellow campers continued to make sounds that reminded me of a penguin rookery. I opened both little windows partially to vent (but still screened in case any mosquitoes were still alive). Then I opened ¼ of one door but left the camouflage privacy screen in place. No innocent camper needs to see some drunk woodsman’s junk! (Side note: the UP2 tent has screen that’ll stop the smallest bug but it’s also camouflage and designed so you can’t see the person inside. I’d guess you’d call that “privacy camouflage”? I’ve never had a tent with that feature. It’s just one a thousand nice details.)
Privacy camouflage screen.
I fretted. Would I roast out or would I…. Zzzzzzzzz
Almost in mid sentence I was out cold. Sleeping like a baby. I was warm and toasty like I was being baked in fresh bread.
I was out for hours. By the time I was fully awake it was nearly 10 am! Now that had been a good snooze!
It had been good timing too. The skies had cleared, the fog had dissipated, the drizzle had quit, and the tent was bone dry inside and out. Even more importantly, 80% of the campers who’d annoyed me at dawn were gone. What’s with that? Why do people struggle to find time to go camping only to break camp at dawn in the rain?
Not my circus, not my monkeys.
I percolated coffee and took some Tylenol. Hopefully it would help with the sore wrist. I’d greatly exacerbated it over the previous day and then layered it with the subtle flavors of a mild hangover.
I tossed bacon and eggs on the picnic table and dug through my canned goods. I found a can of “tomatoes ready for chili”. No idea what that was. I assumed it would go with eggs. I also found an onion which, inexplicably, I’d put in the cooler.
God loves us and the reason I know this is that my breakfast was amazing. The tomatoes had some spicy stuff in them (probably red chilies?) that made my eggs soar! I started with bacon first, to grease my little iron skillet. Then I poured most (but not all) of the grease on the fire. Time to be happy I wasn’t quite in grizzly country. (There are black bears in the area but they’re avidly hunted. Also every redneck in the county is armed to the teeth. Thus, the bears behave with all due decorum. There’s a lesson in that.)
In the bacon grease I sautéed some diced onion, then I added tomatoes, then a bit later I added the eggs. I’d have added the bacon which I’d cooked to perfection. But I’d already gobbled the bacon down while cooking the eggs. No regrets, it was delicious! Between the percolated coffee, the perfect bacon, and the ideal egg concoction I wound up feeling like a king. It was the best meal I’ve had in weeks!
The winds were calm (too calm for sailing) and my wrist wasn’t happy. Plus I was just generally beat. Rigging the boat is work and sailing it is both mental strain and physical effort. I’d brought paperbacks to read and a screen tent (unnecessary since it turns out the mosquitoes have been mostly froze out). Maybe just read?
In the end I was simply too inspired by my surroundings and tasty breakfast. I brought out my little Alphasmart NEO and typed some more of Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels. And you thought I wasn’t thinking of y’all?
Pending review and maybe some finishing touches I think the next chapter might have just come together! Could anything be more appropriate than fiction typed by a hungover guy sipping coffee at a picnic table?
Stay tuned…