You may ask yourself. “Well… how did I get here?”
It should have been a moment of triumph. I’d successfully completed a personal challenge. I wanted to see if I’d restored some of my constitution.
I had. I’d been awake roughly 22 hours.
I was hundreds of miles from home. I’d driven all through the night. Road conditions had sucked; a long, gloomy, miserable, rainy, moonless, deer ridden night.
Monitoring myself all the way, lest I wind up a geezer asleep at the wheel, I ground it out. To my delight, I’d done well.
Now for the second part. When I was younger I would pretend a tent was a hotel room. Could I still do that?
Some background; I’m broke. Last year I retired abruptly into austerity. A lifetime of frugality meant I had a tiny financial buffer. My health went haywire and I bailed out of the workforce; effectively trading the buffer for health. Everyone says “health is more important than money”. Do they mean it? I did. Bullet dodged. But, I’m broke.
Was I tough enough drive all night and camp rather than stay at a hotel? This would bring my life full circle. I was born into a society where people simply didn’t stay in hotels. I’d like to return to that. A career of endless work travel, with endless nameless hotels; let it end. When I was young, life had been simpler, but that doesn’t mean better. Tents are inefficient. They take time. They’re not climate controlled. They’re uncomfortable. They’re inconvenient.
I still camp but tents are pure recreation. Does it have to be that way? Young men and retired men have one thing in common, more time than money. Why not burn a few hours setting up gear and save a hundred bucks?
I’d showed up at the campsite many hours too early. It was just before dawn. A hulking truck camper slept in the spot I’d reserved. Entirely reasonable. It was still their turf. Nobody expects a person on vacation to bug out at dawn for the convenience of a bearded cheapskate who just pulled off an overnight drive.
I parked in front of an outhouse. My phone, gathering very limited signal, informed me a nearby empty spot wasn’t the solution. It was already reserved. Someone would show up in a few hours to rightfully claim it.
What now?
I could (if necessary) afford to pay for a hotel but I was committed to camping. A hotel would require at least another hour on the road. I didn’t want to do that. I was spent and didn’t know when I’d hit “the wall”. My back ached. My head too. I’m not the young bulletproof man I once was.
Nor can I kick back in a driver’s seat and take a catnap. I needed sleep for real. I needed my CPAP. Especially after health issues last year, I freak out about missed sleep.
I had my trusty tent. And the cot. And the mattress. And the sleeping bag. All tested. I’ve blogged about them before and can set them up in a flash. Less speedy is the CPAP to keep me alive and a battery pack to keep the CPAP alive. For a night or two the battery would be fine. I’ve tested that too.
All that gear. Back in the day I’d sack out in my station wagon. Dirty clothes for a pillow and an old jacket for a blanket. The material word accretes upon our ideals.
What if I setup somewhere short term as a squatter? I could relocate as soon as the truck vamoosed. A bit rude, but only if someone shows up. I didn’t want to be a jerk but maybe that’s what I need to be? Is it inherent in using a tent instead of a hotel room that you have to be a bit aggressive? Is this a “fake it until you make it” moment?
The sun was just peeking through a cloudy humid morning. I was almost dizzy with fatigue. I sipped a bottle of water. It wouldn’t do to get dehydrated!
Road weary, I was too addled to think clearly. I gave myself a few moments of inertia. Something would happen.
It did.
A text from Mrs. Curmudgeon. Our much beloved cat, still practically a kitten, was at the vet. The news was grim. Before that news I had a bit of energy in reserve. The text consumed everything. I was crushed. I’m a softy about cats and dogs. I’d known the little guy was sick. A dire outcome was possible but I didn’t think it likely. He’s a young cat and hadn’t been sick long. I’d been optimistic.
I sat there. Sad and uncertain. My mind went blank. As if to piss on me personally, the heavens opened up with a genuine downpour. I could barely see out of the windshield. Then came the next text, the cat was dead. I mentally collapsed.
Some mornings are harder than others.
