There I was… exhausted, in a car, engine off, in a downpour, grieving my dead cat. Nowhere to go, no idea how go there, and no spirit to anything about it. These things happen.
I don’t know how long I sat there. Eventually my iPad lit up. Earlier I’d tried to use my phone as a WiFi hotspot in conjunction with an iPad to find and claim an unreserved campsite. Cell service was spotty so it didn’t work… until it did.
A campsite not far away was unreserved! Nobody could evict me; so long as I reserved it right away. I drove through the rain to the site. Normally I’d call Mrs. Curmudgeon to lock it down. It’s a simple matter from her more civilized internet situation. Not this morning. She was even more distraught than I. Best leave her to her grief.
I tried to change my reservation. The connection failed. The page crashed.
I’d borrowed Mrs. Curmudgeon’s vehicle and it had an SUV-ish hatchback space. It would have space to sleep if I hadn’t stuffed it full of camping gear. Could I toss all my crap onto the picnic table, cover it with a tarp to keep it dry, and sleep best I could in the car? Nope. Note to self: next time bring a tarp.
I started rearranging camping gear inside the car. I hoped to make space for myself. It didn’t work and I completely scrambled all of my gear.
The iPad pinged. The transaction had gone through. I didn’t even know it was still trying!
I was no longer squatting. Greenlight to setup my tent! Some tents can be erected during rain and still be dry inside. Mine is not one of them. It’s strictly designed for “dry setup”. If only the rain would let up.
As if on queue, the rain stopped. Thank you God! In a big rush I pitched the tent and assembled cot, mattress, sleeping bag, little stand for the CPAP, the CPAP itself, and the battery to run the CPAP. I even folded out my backpacking pillow.
It was unseasonably warm and the air was super humid. I was tired and coated in sweat. A hotel sure would have been easier. I flopped on the cot.
A minute later the rain returned. I closed my eyes. My very long day was over.
It would have been cool if I’d slept well. I didn’t.
Over and over I’d drift off. Each time I’d feel the feather light touch of our cat hopping onto my cot. I’d reach down to pet him and remember all over again. The little guy was dead and I felt the loss fresh and raw each time. Four hours passed. I gave up “resting”.
Campground showers look like the set of a creepy prison movie. They’re nothing like your house. Weird plumbing fittings project through cement block walls. You stand on wet concrete that’s probably a vector for every disease known to man. Woe be to the fool who forgets his shower slippers! The water cannot be adjusted and it’s barely warm enough to be “not too cold”. Did I mention the spiders?
This time things weren’t half bad. The place was ugly but clean. No spiders. The water had good pressure and (what an awesome blessing!) it was nice and hot. Proper hygiene made me feel more human.
After that, I drove through the rain looking for a nice coffee shop. That would salvage my mood. I’d buy a stupidly expensive latte and lose my worries doomscrolling on free WiFi.
What luck! I found a modern building with easy access and great parking. It was surely a coffee shop. Nope; it was a pot dispensary. Dispensaries are one of the weirdest things about living in the future. I had to listen to a lifetime of hippies and libertarians bitching about dope; including all sorts of stuff about hemp rope and how pot cured whatever ailment they imagined. Then, the whole thing flipped. It emerged legal (where it is legal) in the least hippie/libertarian way possible. From a distance, it looks like a creepy blend of Government regulatory capture and potheads simply delighted to do what the man tells them. I didn’t foresee firebreathing libertarians (many but not all) turning boring at the first legal puff.
How is “dispensary” even a word? It’s dope! Folks don’t buy Jim Beam at an “apothecary”.
I drove on, frustrated at the lack of Starbucks or anything similar. (Yes, I see the dual standard. Caffeine is a thing… but I don’t get coffee at “dispensaries” either.)
I turned the corner and bumped into a place with a security perimeter appropriate for a nuclear reactor. WTF? It was a pot growing facility; presumably(?) associated with the structure I’d seen nearby. (I’m not sure what it was really. Do they actually grow a plant? I have no idea how a plant becomes gummies or whatnot. Nor can I articulate the difference between a “dispensary”, pre-packaged shit they sell at the diesel register in truck stops, and Cheech and Chong.) All I know is it was ultra secure. I’ve seen military installations with less.
Eventually, I wound up at a casino. It was the only thing around.
Gambling at noon on a Thursday. If you’re searching for winners in the game of life, that’s not where you’d look.
I didn’t belong. I seemed to freak people out. I meant to be unobtrusive but the crowd of gambling geezers sighted me at a distance and parted like the Red Sea.
Not wishing to be rude, I strode quickly through; which made me look closer to RoboCop than anyone else in the building. I ignored rows of dipshit arcade consoles. Not real arcade games; where you use dexterity, memorization, or problem solving to reach higher levels. This was senseless blinking, blathering, noisy, machines. It’s a room full of reverse ATMs; a system intended to slowly digest Social Security checks. And for what? Usually just ephemeral images on a screen.
Just like I don’t care about pot, I’ve got no problem with gambling; but both more as an idea of freedom than the lame ass state of their realization. Especially on the day my cat died, everything seemed alien and strange.
At least I’d found a roof and WiFi. I ordered food and wondered if my outfit caused the stir. I was wearing boots and a hefty camo rain jacket. I also had a tactical daypack slung over my shoulder. (It carried nothing but a Linux-ed tablet and a paperback.) Or my size. I’m not Jack Reacher but I was a foot taller than everyone. Healthier too. A freshly washed, thoroughly soaked, grieving, bearded outdoorsman in that room was Paul Bunyan visiting a kindergarten.
The meal was cheap and tasted cheap.
Back at camp, I slept some more. Ghost cats didn’t visit me. It continued to rain.
After sunset the rain stopped. I crawled out of my tent. I wasn’t properly rested but felt a whole lot better. Maybe it was rest. Maybe it was getting over the cat. Maybe I’d had enough of being rained on. Who knows?
I camp because it makes me happy. I hadn’t yet been happy. Time to turn this shit around…