[I had plans to go camping by motorcycle. I abandoned them and chose instead a simple, easy, lame single overnight with my truck.]
Compared to my motorcycle plans, the truck’s air conditioning (and therefore also filtered air) was a lot less stress. I gave up on all the light, rugged gear and switched to my rock solid, tried and true, truck camping array of gear. At camp, my setup time (counting the CPAP) was about 16 minutes.
The wind had indeed shifted toward “clean”. The air had cooled considerably.
It was the perfect climate. I’d made the right call!
The campground was (literally!) completely occupied. I feared it would feel crowded. Driving from my very remote home to a less remote campsite seems silly but it worked out.
Also, the people at the campground shone like a jewel! I basked in a level of civilized pleasantry you can scarcely believe still exists! It gives me hope for humanity. A zillion tents and RVs and people and pets and cars and kids and bicycles and campfires and hot dogs cooking on grills all co-existed in peace and cordiality. Unplug from social media and go camping. You’ll be like a European discovering Buc-ees.
It took me a few years to get used to camping at normal campgrounds. Being newly retired I’m getting used to camping midweek during peak season. Most of my life’s campouts have been dispersed camping at the ass end of nowhere during precious holidays and weekends, usually in the sketchiest season possible. Sampling a life of ease is very inviting. Even “crowds” haven’t been a problem.
I predicted a packed rabble of Budweiser soaked miscreants. Nothing could be further from the truth. Children played, people laughed, everyone was quietly pleasant. People huddling in their designated sites turned a “crowd” into a cordial little neighborhood. Kids zoomed by on bikes just like I did as a child. At sunset everyone walked their dog. Norman Rockwell couldn’t have imagined a better version of heaven!
Who knew?
Was it really that awesome? I dunno’. Felt like it to me. Probably a lot had to do with the gentle breeze that had dropped the temperature 20 degrees and air that felt clean. Is a lawnchair and a fresh cool breeze enough to make the whole world into puppies and kittens? I think so.
This campground has cell service. I called a friend.
“Sup?” I like that guys communicate with few words and sometimes single syllables.
“Did I tell you about that thing that happened?”
“Nope.”
He proceeded to tell me a story. It began with “getting old doesn’t come with a manual” and ended with surgery! He’d elected to do an outdoor recreation activity that seemed pretty creampuff to me. He had the same opinion. We were wrong! He got injured. His experience was apparently a textbook example of shit you ought not do after a certain number of birthdays. He even had a quote about it from a literal medical textbook!
“Damn! I would’ve thought that activity was no big deal.”
“Yah, me too.”
We agreed that someone ought to write up a manual. I’d vote for Dave Barry.
While cooking dinner I thought about our conversation and all the stupid shit I do. I’m not “old” but that’s subjective. As all men will tell you, there’s a time when your mind thinks you’re 26 and your body ain’t. I ride motorcycles, hike in extreme heat, run chainsaws… my friend got nailed doing just a fraction of that. It was just an innocent underestimation but he got seriously hurt. Something neither of us thought of as dangerous at “our age” had bit him in the ass!.
What hidden risks am I missing? Are there things should I be phasing out right damn now?
Dinner was done (and delicious). I had some firewood in the truck, but it wasn’t cut. I was using my little electric chainsaw (perfect for a campground, it’s no louder than an electric can opener) to lop wood into smaller bits on my tailgate.
I eyed the little saw. “Are you the thing that will try to fell me in old-ish age?” Nah, saws are dangerous at any age.
I climbed up into the truck to grab the last piece of wood. I was about to jump down like I always do.
Ah ha!
My truck is pretty tall. Every time I hop off the tailgate I’m rolling the dice. It wouldn’t take much to twist an ankle or hyperextend a knee. I’m sure Dave Barry would have some thoughts about that. There are YouTube videos and jokes about old dudes falling off trucks. (A cliché right up there with videos of dudes loading motorcycles.)
Thinking of our conversation, I decided to play it safe.
I hunkered down and got on my hands and knees on the tailgate. I’d climb down like a gentle panda rather than going airborne and landing weird on a pinecone or something. I reached one leg off the tailgate and stretched down to the ground. I was being very cautious and deliberate.
And I fell off the damn tailgate!
I fell hard. I didn’t land on dirt and pinecones, I hit cement. The only cement in the vicinity was a concrete parking curb and I landed on it. What an absolute moron!
It wasn’t gradual. I didn’t roll. Ka pow! Flat onto the concrete; slamming into my body.
Laying there, unseen on the ground behind my truck, I had four thoughts:
- I didn’t hit my head. It could be worse. I could be out cold.
- My cell phone is 20′ away. How much drama will that 20′ create?
- I’ve never ridden in an ambulance. Maybe I’m due?
- This was supposed to be a completely drama free evening!
I’ll stop here. The rest is in the next post.
Spoiler alert, I’m OK.