Adaptive Curmudgeon

I was planning to write about camping but that’s not how I roll. During camping I’ve been experimenting with dead tree paperbacks versus e-book kindle books. I decided to veer into that patch of weeds.

My reasoning is that there’s a deeper and slower connection with the mind if you’re reading print from dead tree than fonts on ephemeral LCD screens.

I’m not a one man scientific experiment and it’s really hard to assess one’s reaction to books. They’re each subjectively different and subjective. So my sincere desire to suss out the dead tree / e-book divide is probably doomed. Anyway, I picked out an assortment of books and read them (some while camping).

Here’s my “sample”:

For an e-book “control sample” I recently read Adjustment Day by Chuck Palahniuk on Kindle. What a disaster! (Warning: DON’T BUY ADJUSTMENT DAY!) Adjustment Day may be the worst book I’ve ever read. I had high hopes but Palahniuk just can’t write well. Also, based on his disjointed, perverted, half assed book… dude’s got issues. I mean serious issues. Like therapy and medication and maybe just keep him away from society for a while. His pointless story was a disgusting slog thorough a depraved yet remarkably uncreative mind. I wanted to sterilize my iPad after letting that dude’s gross book into its memory.

Another e-book misfire was Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road by Neil Peart. It was meant to be a “control” in the dead tree / e-book challenge. Sadly, it didn’t work out and I’m only halfway through. It’s an ok book but it’s about a man dealing with grief. I have my own such journey. It’s too heavy right now. This in no way reflects on Peart’s literature! I’m sure I’d love it in some other sunny world, but after certain events last year, I can’t go there.

After Palahniuk and Peart, I expanded the “experiment” to “fluff”. Meaning books that were never intended to be learned tomes of deep wisdom. I think they were once called “beach books”? Sometimes you gotta’ peer into the dark but you don’t need to make a mission out of it.

On my last campout I read The Road To Missanabie on dead tree. It’s part of my “fluff book” list. It cost $4 on Kindle and $15 on dead tree. It’s a steep price increase for the physical object! I ponied up the extra $11 as part of my experiment in dead tree versus e-book.

I recently read old sci-fi (The Space Merchants by Kornbluth, 1953) not just on dead tree but used. (Beware! Amazon’s unholy algorithm will try to reroute you away from the Kornbluth story to something else.)

On e-book, I’m nearly done reading Union Station Omnibus: Books 1 – 5 (EarthCent Ambassador Beginnings). I wanted to pivot away from depth and I sure did! It’s what I think of as “super extra fluffy chick-lit” but it’s not all bad. I sorta’ like it in a “meh” way. In 2024 anything not actively beating me to death with woke (or depravity like Adjustment Day) is welcome. It’s smoothly written, shallow, fun-ish, and pleasantly forgettable. As analogy, I usually drink whiskey, but maybe an occasional sip of lite beer won’t kill me.

On deck for dead tree “fluff” I’ve ordered The Mark Of Zorro: The Curse Of Capistrano by Johnston McCulley. (Supposedly this is the real Zorro and not some dipshit re-make. Time will tell.) I haven’t received it yet but I have high hopes! A 1919 book about a Spanish horse riding, aristocratic, swashbuckling, Batman in 1800’s California sounds perfect! It should while away the hours.

What have I learned? Nothing.

I can’t really say I’ve compared equivalent e-books and dead tree books. One e-book I chose would suck even if it were engraved on gold plates and the other was just too close to a personal loss.

The only true measurable fact is that the dash of my truck now has a couple paperbacks clogging the defroster vents.

What can I say? I have a theory but it’s not an exact testable science.

Maybe in my next post I’ll remember I was writing about camping.

Oh my! You thought I was writing about a camping trip? Me too! We should hang out.

The thing is, I go camping to think. When I think I don’t necessarily think about camping. This trip I was thinking about dead tree books versus electronic media.

You know what this means? It means brace yourself because I’m about to go on a tangent.

Since I’m already going off the rails, within the tangent I’ll hit a sub- tangent! That’s combined primary and secondary tangentialism! (Which is totally a word because I said so.)

You’ve been warned…

I have a theory. E-books and dead tree books are subtly but deeply different. The words, of course are identical. The difference is in how your mind registers what it’s reading.

Many years ago I reluctantly purchased a Kindle. I was impressed and quickly embraced e-books. I wasn’t just saving money (which I did), I was reducing the annual tonnage of bric-a-brac cluttering my household. Every year our house accumulated dozens (perhaps hundreds) of books. It’s always been that way. I hate throwing them out (or selling them for a pittance) and everyone loves big stuffed bookshelves. But at some point it gets out of control. Stacks of books grow from pleasant libraries to warehouse type issues.

The arrival of e-book readers was timed just exactly with the complete and utter collapse of bookstores. It’s not merely a cause, bookstores had it coming! They became useless, got worse, devolved into insufferable, and now most of them are broke.

Book shopping used to be a magical moment. I miss them! I remember walking into into a store and looking at that vast library of knowledge and thinking “this is all for me!” The titles seemed endless and I’d happily peruse for hours. Every few weeks I’d pick one or two titles out of the immensity of options. Those shopping trips were like Christmas to me.

Alas bookstores should be places where introvert readers sell books to other introvert readers… ideally with a cat hanging around somewhere. They became soulless corporate shitholes. Bored, barely literate, temporary flunkies who hadn’t read a book since high school stocked shelves with whatever crap corporate HQ was trying to sledgehammer into the skulls of formerly inquisitive readers. Interested in a discussion of Adam Smith? Fuck you! You’re going to read Hunger Games! Read Hunger Games and really hankering for some 1950’s sci-fi? Fuck you! It’s time for Game of Thrones. You’re going to eat shit and like it! Bookstores became brokers of woke shit and half-literature. Walls of duplicate books about sparkly vampires and bland committee written non-fiction “instructionals”. Everything a mile wide and an inch deep. “Chicken Soup for those Desperately Needing Affirmation” shelved next to “Programming in C++ for the Idiot”. The periodicals declined and information drained out. “Motorcycle Chrome HD Aficionado Photo Magazine” replaced “Chilton’s Guide to Keeping Your Shitty Car Running”. I have a homestead and hissed in response to “Generic Gardening Magazine; sponsored by $50,ooo Kubota mini-tractors”. It’s one thing to grow a tomato, it’s another to use a machine with a six year payment plan to do it.

It was as if a door closed. I didn’t cause it, but I saw it happen.

Without bookstores and indeed lacking in good books, e-books (particularly of whatever old classic thing I haven’t yet read) became a practical refuge.

I don’t have regret but I notice a problem. I didn’t notice it with e-paper but I notice it with the Kindle app on an iPad. (I “wore out” an e-paper Kindle, and then I wore out a standard Kindle Fire, and now I read on a iPad.)

Warning: I’m about to digress within a digression! Yep, prepare as I grenade a reasonable thought process with practicality unrelated to books:

A note about the iPad (which I use as an e-reader). It’s particularly handy when camping/adventuring because I use the Avenza navigation app. To me, navigating with the iPad is superior to a phone not despite but because it’s mildly inconvenient. Avenza is damn good navigation software for certain purposes and I can display it on any number of gadgets. Most people use Avenza on their phone. I don’t.

Here’s why. Having a phone forever in your hand (or clipped to your vehicle’s dash or clamped on ATV handlebars) changes you! It changes your thinking. It changes how you interact with your environment. Spend too much time dicking around with your navigation display and you might as well be a drooling teenager swiping Tik-Tok feeds. You go outside to be fully immersed in the moment. You must turn the screen off and look at the real world. Ever present navigation displays create a dependency of mind. Stare at that screen enough and you’ll forget that the map is not the terrain. You’ll never learn to evaluate a situation and determine which direction to go based solely on what you have physically encountered. One cannot fully navigate reality when engulfed by watching a dot on a database.

Before you reject me as a ranting Curmudgeon, give it some thought. I said any person will miss something (a lot) if you let navigation software lead you around like a dog on a leash. It’s not the gadget it’s the lack of self-reliance.

A person who travels in a group and always lets “the leader” pick the trail is just as unaware as the dipshit with his nose glued to a phone. It’s easy to tromp down the trail behind someone else and lack the slightest fucking idea where you really are. Slavishly follow anything, electronic or not, and you’re just sheep following a shepherd. That goes for an electronic gadget, a paid wilderness guide, or a hiking companion. If you’re not paying attention you’re not really present.

So, my phone (which could run Avenza) goes off and gets stuffed in the bottom of my pack. My SpotX is often off, but usually clipped to me. It has navigation abilities but they’re primitive. It’s pretty much for emergencies only. The larger clunkier iPad, with it’s large screen and superior map view must be fished out of the pack for consultation when necessary but not every step of the way.

In practice that means I navigate on common sense and dead reckoning 99% of the time. I occasionally check Avenza when I get to a “fork in the road” or want to plan the next few hour’s travel. I’ll fish it out, check it, decide my next move, and then turn the thing off and cram it back amid water bottles and spare socks.

Also, I do not allow cell service on my iPad. Avenza can use the iPad’s GPS to locate itself pretty much anywhere on earth but I have to load Avenza maps for the appropriate area before I leave civilization.

This is good! You should always check some sort of map before you go wandering about. Grabbing a handy Avenza file in advance enforces good thinking.

This isn’t a hard challenge and you don’t have to be a dick about it. I’ve often been near the edge of a map and so decided to download the adjacent map while chowing down on a burger at some random bar. All I need is Wi-Fi, not the Library of Congress. By the way, because I don’t have a data plan, I cannot check the weather on the iPad while I’m at camp. Which is OK with me.

What I’m saying is that it’s better to move through nature thinking about what you’re seeing. Following a blinking dot on some remote database is handy but it’ll erode autonomy and common sense.

It doesn’t mean my opinion is popular, most folks follow that dot like a cat with a laser pointer. Having an unpopular opinion doesn’t make it wrong.

Wow! That just came out. It was a rant that wouldn’t stay untyped.

Back to the matter of electronic displays versus “dead tree” books, I believe our brains have been “trained” by various displays. Yes, yours too. Whatever part of your brain “activates” with a screen is subtly different than whatever activates with a plain old “dead tree” book.

We all use screens (whether it’s a phone, tablet, or laptop), often for hours a day. Every screen is always displaying ephemeral crap. I theorize the brain learns that stuff in front of it on a screen is “fleeting” and therefore of lesser importance. Maybe the screen is a spreadsheet at work, maybe it’s some dickhead on social media, maybe it’s the weather report, maybe it’s some airhead spewing “news” about whatever we’re ordered to believe today. The ultimate similarity of all those things is that the stuff you’re seeing will be gone (usually forever!) in hours or even minutes.

I don’t know how it works for folks young enough that they never read “dead tree” books. I shudder to think about the mind of folks that simply don’t read at all. But I’m old enough to associate a bound stack of printed sheets of paper with something that persists and therefore matters on a much longer time scale.

On campouts, I’ve been experimenting with reading dead tree books versus e-books. In my next post I’ll list a half dozen books I’ve read and whether I’ve quantified the dead-tree / e-book divide.

All through the winter I’ve been thinking about camping. All through a very painful 2023 I missed it. I’m very worried I NOT miss it in 2024. That said, every single week there’s a reason why this particular weekend you shouldn’t be camping. All of civilization wants your ass indoors and looking at a screen. It is the gentler call of your soul that wants you sitting by a fire, thinking of the universe. Thank Goodness Mrs. Curmudgeon kicked my ass into gear.

More to the point, this was an unplanned (or barely planned) short notice thing… and I was physically exhausted (which happens a bit too often lately). I decided this would be an excellent time to see if some of my “camp on autopilot” ideas would work out.

My first “camp on autopilot” notion is to pack heavy. I’m driving there in a truck, why go ultralight? The second notion is to be already packed. For basic State Park car camping I have a big Milwaukee Packout on wheels. That’s my “manage a hot tent” gear. I have a second Milwaukee Packout and that’s my “chuckbox”. It has all the stuff I need to cook in any one of several modes (over the fire, using the stove and fuel in the box, etc..). It also has enough food for a good long time. I added to that a Milwaukee Packout cooler (which I use on dirt bike rides too). I threw a six pack of beer, half a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon into the cooler and assumed there was plenty in my chuckbox to make it work.

Honestly, I’d forgotten what I’d packed. I could only assume I’d chosen wisely.

Two months ago, the last time I camped out (story links: 1, 2, 3, 4), it had been cold. I’d used my “winter gear”. It was still cold out but less so. I decided to stick with my “winter gear” setup:  Russian Bear Market UP 2, Caminus M Stove, Teton XXL Cot, Teton XXL Mattress. That stuff works together as a set and it’s all overkill. I could probably ride out a blizzard on an ice floe with that combination.

Nighttime heat:

This time I chose to try not using my woodstove. I brought it with me (just in case), but I didn’t set it up.

This State Park charges for AC power whether you want it or not. Last time I tried “a little “heat your feet under your office desk” heater and it didn’t heat the tent enough to keep me warm. I have since purchased a cheap 1500 watt heater that’s suitably small. I’d never used it. It was crammed in my Milwaukee box along with an extension cord.

It worked perfectly! It was slightly above freezing at night and the little heater kept my tent in the 70’s. (I don’t have a thermometer but it was toasty.)

On the high setting it was TOO hot. I put it at the mid setting and snoozed toasty all night.

Thus, I recommend the stupidly named Portable Space Heater, Electric Small Heater with Thermostat Overheat Tip-Over Protection, 750W/1500W PTC Ceramic Room Heater for Bedroom, Garage, Office, Desk, Workshop Indoor Use. It’s $39 but works like a charm. If the park people force you to buy AC why not use it?

Note: this isn’t a rugged waterproof made for camping gadget… use common sense. Don’t put it in a mud puddle or on top of dry tinder. Please be a damn adult about it! If you burn your tent down with yourself in it… that’s all on you. I’m just saying what works for me. (Also, I get a kickback from Amazon if you buy stuff, so go nuts!)

Firewood:

My last campout I had a lot of drama obtaining enough firewood. This time I reverted to my “magic pallet solution”. I gathered a handful of free pallets from a business that’s happy to be rid of them.

It took about 10 minutes to load that much crap in my truck. Then at home I cut out all the nails and stuff. There are LOTS of nails in a pallet so use care to get all that shit out of there. Expect about 30% of the pallet’s volume to be “waste”. Dispose of properly, that junk is a flat tire waiting to happen.

The remainder is kiln dried and perfectly useable. It took a little under 40 minutes to cut up a trash can full of completely nail free wood. It wasn’t very cold out so I’d cut more than I expected to need.

Trying to learn fuel consumption is a thing I do: A full trash can will supply probably 3-ish days (two nights) camping, depending on how much wood you burn. If you burn wood just for atmosphere and also for cooking and to heat your tent it goes away fast. If it’s just to sit by in the evening while drinking beer it’ll last a lot longer.

I’m happy to say pallet wood worked well. So far I was batting 1000%!

I did an entirely reasonable thing but followed through with (at least on my blog) nothing. Twelve days ago (holy crap has it been that long?) I rolled out for the eclipse.

I left the blog with a bunch of links to the 2017 eclipse and just… vamoosed. It’s good for the soul to bail out; maybe not always but perhaps periodically! Skip town! Hit the road Jack! It’s a thing I have to do once in a while simply to be me. While there are advantages to staying put, I still relish the simplicity of reducing your immediate life to the road and a vehicle.

It was a long trip. This eclipse’s path was far more inconvenient than the 2017 path.

But who am I to complain? The moon does what the moon does. Us monkeys beneath can observe or not. Which, it seems lots of people did: not observe I mean. I was there. All predictions of heavy traffic and unmanageable crowds were bullshit… as anyone who’s paid attention in the last few decades already knew. Here’s a video of the news leading up to a four minute dimming of the sun:

Don’t let it get to you! There is nothing the news can report without freaking out. Absolutely nothing! Trump tweets covfefe, two nations that have been at war since humans wrote on papyrus are pissed off at each other, it snows in the winter, it rains in the summer, it doesn’t rain in the summer, there’s a tornado in a trailer park, an old polar bear gets sick, a dude in a dress wants to take a shit in Target, Chick-Fil-A closes on Sunday, the DOW goes down, the DOW goes up… every fucking thing under the sun (including people looking at the sun) is discussed by hyperventilating dipsticks like it’s the end times. Is it not 24 years after we all died in Y2K? Why would anyone listen to any media about anything ever?

The fact that people (possibly spooked by the press) were reluctant to go is completely OK with me. As for myself I was all in. In 2017 I decided “I’ll see every total eclipse for which I have a shot”. I meant it and I did it.

The eclipse was just as awe inspiring as before. Also, it felt good to “do a thing”. There’s a goodness in pursuing an event totally beyond the realm of mankind. Nor was it without uncertainty. I spent umpteen zillion hours at the wheel wondering if I was heading for a cloudy disappointment. But I did it anyway.

Doubt is normal. Uncertainty and risk are part of God’s plan. But just plain wimping out is when you begin to die inside.

Suppose you drive there and it’s cloudy. So what? You tried. You were there; at the time, at the place. Through no fault of your own it didn’t happen. That’s just life. Life has disappointments. Clouds are not a flaw in yourself. To do naught, lest you fail, is the thing that’ll kill your heart. “I won’t ask that pretty girl to dance because she might turn me down.” “I won’t get a dog because it’s sad when they die.” “I won’t go look at the sky because it might be cloudy.” Our current society that can barely keep it’s pants on and therefore following their depressed sad-sack bullshit is just a way to become another NPC. I am not of that. You shouldn’t be either. They hate beauty, they hate joy, they hate love… in the end, they hate life itself. If you drive a thousand miles to look at a cloud, have a hearty laugh and continue being awesome! Never let them wear you down.

I did the thing. I didn’t watch it on TV or listen to talking heads freak out about traffic, I just went there. It was glorious and I came home fulfilled if somewhat exhausted from the long drive.

What better thing would I have done in those days? Surf the internet? Listen to America’s ongoing and slightly tamer version of Stalin’s show trials? Fret over war in the Mideast, a place that’s been at war or near war most of my life? Watch my driveway ice melt?

It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness. There’s no brighter candle that roaming great swaths of our huge nation just to get a peek under the Universe’s dress!

At the “zone of totality”… a bad ass phrase only eclipse viewers can use non-ironically, the sky was gloriously clear. The view was perfect. I saw, once again, something that can be experienced no other way. Here’s a hint, if you see an eclipse on TV you have not seen an eclipse, you’ve seen a 2 dimensional representation of it. The same could be said of sex or battle, watching is not being.

I’m covered for the next 20 years. Unless I get so rich off my squirrel book (which isn’t finished… damn it!) that I buy a Learjet, I’m not likely to see another eclipse for a very long time. Statically I might never see one. But I have seen two. Is that not a blessing?

So you’d think I’d get home, rest up, and then write my usual giant serialized wall of text about the thing. That was my plan. I just… didn’t. Maybe I will later, for now you were there or you weren’t.

However, something interesting happened right after I returned. I was at work and absolutely road weary when I got a text from Mrs. Curmudgeon. “So, you’re going camping this weekend?”

That was the furthest thing from my mind.

Mrs. Curmudgeon is a wise woman. I reflected on all those hours we’d sat in a car, blasting across time zones to and from the eclipse and I’d been chatting about camping non-stop. I pretty much couldn’t shut up about it. Clearly my subconscious knows I need “outdoor time” even if the rest of me is dumb as a post. I texted back. “Good idea!”

It was no longer the furthest thing from my mind.

Now, don’t get too excited. I didn’t do much. I was beat and on a short schedule. But I did make an awesome camp breakfast. So, in the next post, I’ll ignore the massive once in a lifetime (or in my case twice) celestial event and talk about my tame little overnight at a State Park.

I’ve been incommunicado much of the spring break up season (that phrase refers to the thawing of soil and not overwrought soap opera shit). Conditions have been alternating between too cold to ride my motorcycle, too muddy to enjoy camping, wet enough that a lot of the roads are out of commission, and absolutely miserable for hauling firewood across the spongy lawn to my house. It’s not good conditions about which to blog. What can I say, shit happens (as does mud).

Spring breakup is God’s annual plan to temporarily put me in “time out” (likely for my own damn good). However, there’s a break in my exile!

I’m going off line a bit. I shall travel to a place I don’t want to be at a time that’s inconvenient. Why? To gaze at celestial events! In 2017 the eclipse blew my mind. I promised myself that I’d never miss any eclipse I could reasonably see… ever!

This time the eclipse is in a geographic region in the east. It’s not home on the range. This means:

• Discouraging words are oft heard.
• The skies ARE cloudy all day.
• Deer and antelope? Forgetaboutit!

Regardless, I’ll either see the firmament of nature or a cloudy sky over a group of disappointed easterners… which I’m informed by the media will immediately; riot then die. I don’t know why, that’s just what the press says. I’ve no idea why media (and those consuming it) think people will drop like flies if the lights go out for six minutes, but that’s the gist of things. Well fuck that! People aren’t that awful and I can handle exposure to crowds for a few days. Also, anyone who has a chance to see an eclipse but chooses not to because some dweeb on TV said it was scary deserves what happens as they spend their long depressing pointless life; probably hiding in a basement wearing a mask.

Just for fun, I’m linking to my 2017 eclipse observations. Is this the blog equivalent of a clip show? Yes, but it’s spring break up so it’s ok.

Happy reading:

• Eclipse Advice
• Eclipse 2017 After Action Report: Part 01
• Eclipse 2017 After Action Report: Part 02
• Eclipse 2017 After Action Report: Part 03
• Eclipse 2017 After Action Report: Part 04
• Eclipse 2017 After Action Report: Part 05: It’s All About The Meatloaf
• Eclipse 2017 After Action Report: Part 06
• Eclipse 2017 After Action Report: Part 07
• Eclipse 2017 After Action Report: Part 08
• Eclipse 2017 After Action Report: Part 09: Carly Simon Is Pissing Me Off

Spring isn’t yet warm enough to sail or ride motorcycles. In the meantime, here’s something fun to watch.

A few weeks ago I was camping. It wasn’t very cold for February. Rather than a battle against the elements my campout was mostly happy hours sitting by the fire in 30-40 degree weather. Overnight lows were around 13, which my hot tent handles well.

Could it get any better? Yes it can get better!

I worked in my home office watching the outdoor thermometer. It inched up. Higher. Higher. The sun was brilliant. By noon it had broken 50. It might go a few degrees higher before the late afternoon rays slanted too much and the temperature began to drop again. Each night, the roads freeze, each day they thaw. As does my heart.

“Suit up Poindexter!” The spirit of the road manifested itself and kicked in my door.

“I’ve got… a meeting tomorrow. Need to be prepared.” I argued, lamely and with terrible grammar.

“Shut the fuck up. Ride! Now!” The road calls stronger to some than others. To me, it pulls like a chain.

“It’s only March. Spring will come. The roads will progress through break up. Then I will carefully fire up each of my motorcycles, give them a safety check, and…”

“Shut up! You’re boring me!”

“Why are all the manifestations of my imagination hard asses?”

Having received a legitimate question, it listened. The response was heartfelt. “You know how Jim Henson made Kermit the Frog?”

I nodded.

“Kermit is filled with kindness. A special gentleness of soul that makes everyone like Kermit. Right?”

I nodded again.

“Well you’re not Jim Henson! You’re an asshole and I’m not Kermit! Put this on!” He tossed a helmet at me.

I paused, gathering my thoughts. Remember when you were a kid and you were stuck in school. Ignoring some half-sentient mid-level graduate of teacher-ology rambling on about adverbs and algebra. Shit you knew years ago. She tuned her pitch for the dumbest fuckstick in the class and you just had to take it. Year after year. Even after she led the dumbest invertebrate in class to the promised land of finding X, the blithering moron wouldn’t get it. Then, the same crap would be assigned as homework, as if repeating Shakespeare to a toad makes a toad literate. And when you didn’t hand in that damn homework, because you didn’t do it, because it was stupid and repetitive, all the adults in the vicinity would piss and moan about how you needed to do this dumb shit another dozen times. For some reason it was for your own good. Remember that? Remember how you were a virtual prisoner. Remember how you thought you’d someday be an adult? Remember how you thought adults were free of all that?

Do you really remember? Or have you become the adult? Do you make those goofy wah wah noises of the adults in a Peanuts special?

My imagination paced back and forth angrily while I worked through my situation. I pondered life and its true meaning; looking at the sun over the muddy field and the birds flitting about and the tax forms on my desk. I haven’t done my taxes yet. I will have taxes to do every year. And then I will die.

Ten minutes later I was in my garage, clearing away junk that was between me and the bike. I am among the richest men on earth. I have three motorcycles!

The newest, a dirt bike, was out of the question. Given the freeze and thaw cycles of break up I’d tear a hole in the forest if I tried trails right now. I’d also get covered head to toe in icy mud and probably hit a tree.

The oldest, and my most recent acquisition, is a street bike, perfect for long hauls and carrying tons of gear. In a few months it’ll be filled with camping gear and rolling toward a horizon. But… Well it’s new to me. I’ve only had 1,500 miles to assess the bike. How reliable is it really? I’m sure it’ll run flawlessly for 100K but it hasn’t yet earned my trust for bad conditions.

That left my first bike; an old friend. A basic black and chrome cruiser, it was purchased only days after I’d earned my motorcycle endorsement. I learned on this bike. I put my first mile on this bike. The bike put the first mile on me.

Because I learned as an adult, I have a clear memory of that moment. I didn’t “evolve” with motorcycles gradually over time. I took the hit all at once and never let go. I remember rolling out of the dealership; wincing over the pain of monthly payments and wondering if I’d purchased far too much size and power for a novice. It took all I could do to wobble the beast out of the dealer’s lot and onto the road.

I’d rolled the dice on this bike after decades of longing. I’d wanted a motorcycle since Fonzie rolled across my family’s black and white TV. Like all GenX, I’ve been forced to endure stories dripping of nostalgia for a time that was dead before I was born. Ten year old me didn’t care. The society and the people and their stories meant nothing. All I wanted was Fonzie’s bike.

It took a whole human lifetime before I got my own motorcycle. When the time came I bought a motorcycle big enough to last me forever, or beat me to a pulp, and I didn’t even know if I’d really like it or not. All I really knew was that I’d grown up poor enough that I might only get one shot at it. Now you know why I’m giddy to have more than one motorcycle in the garage. And why the first one will never be for sale.

I have owned this bike so long that I recently installed “collectors” plates. Only old men can put collectors plates on a machine they bought new. I have earned that right. And the motorcycle has earned my trust. Unreasonably, stupidly, outlandishly reliable… if anything will wake from a frozen slumber months before schedule and roll it’s loyal owner to the next time zone, it is my first two wheeled love.

If you live up north you know that all sorts of shit can go wrong when you first bring a bike out of mothballs. For once, the odds were in my favor. Last fall I’d done myself a solid. I’d last gassed up with Sta-bil treated fuel. I’d run the carbs dry. I’d kept it on a battery maintainer. Even the shiny new “collector” plate had been lovingly installed in the middle of winter. Sometime around Christmas I think.

She turned over a couple of times; listening to me mutter prayer and encouragement under my breath. Then she caught. Yes!

Extraction was the next challenge. The air might be in the 50’s but the slope to the garage was shaded and frozen. It was slick with ice. I hacked at it ineffectually with a shovel. I sprinkled some salt to melt the ice. That was all I could do.

I suited up like I was going on the most dangerous ride of the year, which I was. There would be patches of gravel on paved roads. Dirt roads would be squishy and unreliable. There might be ice in shaded spots. The bike’s tires would be cold and sluggish, flexible fittings and hoses would be less supple. Plus cold is hard on the rider. Fifty degrees is tolerable but it’s not 70. I’d be out of practice and suited up in clunky heavy layers.

Living a thing takes more commitment than sitting inside imagining it.

Once I was suited up, head to toe, I rolled gently backwards out of the garage. I made it about 15′. The rear tire got into an area exposed to the sun and sunk into the mud’s warm embrace. The way to handle this is a delicate dance. Push forward which compresses the front forks. Then press the front brake when the forks are squeezed down. Hold it like that, adjust your footing, and then push back while letting go of the brake. The expanding front fork gives you a smidge more momentum and you’ll roll back harder than you could pulling on the handlebars alone. If the bike rolls free, go with it. If it rolls back a few inches and then starts to rock forward again, lock the front tire again before it rolls back to where you were. Shift weight and let it bounce forward on the front forks starting from a few inches backwards. Do the dance again. (This is why heavy Goldwings have reverse gear.)

I tried rocking back and forth and got about a foot but the rear tire had sunk into mud and the front tire was on a patch of ice about a foot square. I couldn’t compress the shock, it just slid back and forth across a dinner plate sized area. Hmmm.

Fuck it. I clicked her into gear and rolled forward. I took a wide gradual arc on a shaded part of my lawn, riding high on frozen grass and ice. I got it lined up and rolled straight as an arrow across the sun melted part. I squished down but through and rolled out to my driveway. I squished down the driveway. I squished down the dirt road. I found myself with muddy tires at the paved road. I waited for a nice big break in traffic before I rolled out in the gentlest of turns and held it in lane for a couple hundred yards.

Finally! I was on pavement, my tires were clean, the engine was warmed up, and I launched. It felt so good. Nothing is more glorious than a motorcycle and it’s especially glorious when you’ve been deprived for several months.

I do not have wings, but I have a motorcycle.

I planned only to ride to the nearest gas station and tank up on fresh fuel. But I the bike didn’t want to go home and neither did I. We rode from nowhere to nowhere, happier every mile. My warm gear was just right for the ambient air, I could ride indefinitely. I rode to a greasy spoon and ate a cheeseburger. I rode further. I found myself singing in my helmet.

I didn’t get home until sunset. It was a lot easier riding up across the ice to the garage than backing down out of it. I parked and smiled and haven’t stopped smiling. I still haven’t done my taxes. It may snow tomorrow. We’re all gonna’ die sooner or later. But that’s ok. I took wing when I had the chance and that’s all that matters.

I woke to the sound of a truck driving away. They’d unhitched and left their ice shack trailer behind. Unlike them, I was in no mood to go anywhere for any reason. I sat around percolating coffee on my camp stove.

Here’s where I mention another camping equipment “test”. I have a huge 5 gallon Igloo water cooler. The big ugly industrial version. I bought it over 20 years ago and used it on many brutal hot desert 4×4 rides. It’s still good as new! I haven’t been bringing it on campouts recently simply because I didn’t heed that much water. (I’m not camping in deserts.)

It was just a hunch to try it in freezing conditions. I wasn’t sure if the Park would have a water supply (turns out it didn’t!). So for winter camping, I brought liquid water in the cooler and hoped the cooler would keep the water from freezing. IT WORKED WELL!

I was impressed. I had some plastic water bottles and they froze solid. The cooler water didn’t freeze at all. Even the spigot stayed thawed. I sat it on the edge of the picnic table and it dispensed water just like a little faucet. I’m glad I didn’t have to fart around melting ice to make my coffee!

I highly recommend Igloo Water Coolers. You know the type I’m talking about. The big huge, expensive, industrial yellow and red cooler is almost a cliché. It’s the kind of thing you see strapped to truck boxes on construction sites. It’s too big for backpacking but in this instance it was perfect. It’s worth it to buy the more expensive but tougher one. Mine looks like new after 20 years and that’s the highest possible praise.

The long pleasant campfire the night before had used much more wood than I’d planned. I was nearly out. Regardless I was chilly so I started a fire. I could get more small form wood for the woodstove but I would be hard to keep a wasteful campfire going all day.

Another of my “neighbors” packed up his trailer and rolled out. I looked to be the only doofus who was going to stay put. I pondered this while cooking bacon and eggs and listening to some sort of opera on my shortwave.

The campsite abandoned by the truck and trailer had a lot of wood just sitting there. I’m more a wilderness camper than a Park guy. This was an ethical dilemma. It would be a serious asshole move to swipe all that fine (still shrink-wrapped!) wood if the guy was coming back. What were the odds he was coming back? It seemed small.

I thought about it for two full pots of coffee. But I did nothing. I’d come here to relax.

A little before noon a park ranger rolled by. She was doing a once daily patrol of the handful of sites that were open for weirdo winter campers. Aside from me and a few chickadees, the whole area was bereft of life. I felt sheepish. I probably looked like an idiot. I was dressed in a heavy blaze orange jacket and fur hat. I was sitting in a lawn chair by a fire that was almost out (and I only had one stick of wood left!). I was sipping coffee and reading my book while opera (played very quietly) burbled in the background.

She slowed down and I braced myself to get bitched out about parking passes. I got up, stretched, and walked toward her truck. I had a checkbook in a pocket in case I needed to buy a parking pass. Something about modern times, one forgets people are sometimes nice. She was all smiles and pleasantness. She wasn’t there to be Gestapo, just make sure the Park was secure. I’ve no idea how such a nice person got a job with the State.

I asked if the Park headquarters were open. (It’s a big park. I had entered from the least trafficked entrance and one with no services.) Would the headquarters have wood for sale?

She said they had wood but then motioned to the pile I’d been watching for hours. “It’s your lucky day, you could use that.”

“You think they’re gone and not coming back?”

“Nobody takes their trailer with them on a short outing.”

“Got it!” From my point of view all questions about ethics had been resolved. The universe had provided firewood. When I hadn’t been sure of etiquette, the universe had sent a Park Ranger to kick my ass into action. Thanks universe!

The Park Ranger was looking at my tent. Oh shit, what had I done now?

“I’ve always wanted to have a tent with a little stove. Is it nice?”

“Yes, it’s great. I can’t say it’s as nice as a travel trailer,” I waved at the abandoned trailer in the adjacent site, “but it’s a lot cheaper and definitely up to the task of winter conditions.”

“It’s a cute tent. I like it.” She smiled, then drove off.

Well how about that? The bearded goofball in a fur hat reading a paperback in sub-freezing temps with his little burbling opera and well used coffee percolator had crossed all the way from nerd to cool. Who knew?

I immediately absconded with all the wood. It seemed like a lot; at least 3 or 4 bundles. I promised myself to leave as much as I could for the next person. I also dedicated 30 minutes to replenishing my “sticks” supply. The sticks had heated my tent well, but being small, I’d burned most of my pile.

After that I basked in the heat as I built up the fire. Over the day a monster 30′ RV pulled up and backed into a spot like a boss. Another ice shack showed up. The fancy van drove off (I’d never seen anyone outside the van, for all I know the van is a robot). One guy’s dog ran off and came by my camp looking for food. I pet him “Good dog!” but was too lazy to rummage up a snack. Eventually the dog left.

During the night a grouse started drumming. I found the open outhouse and after sunset did an “comparison test”. Which is better, a Luggable Loo in a heated tent or carrying an old style lit lantern (which gives off some heat) into a cement outhouse? Luggable loo for the win!

I finished my book and started another. My shortwave radio battery gave out. My tent was as warm and comfortable as always. I woke to a fine dusting of snow and packed slowly, almost reluctantly. I meant to leave some firewood behind but wound up using almost all of it. (Thanks again universe!)

All in all, it was just what the doctor ordered. If you’re like me and want to go camping but have trouble finding the time, do it. You probably need it.

A.C.

I slept several hours like a happy little woods creature burrowed into a gigantic warm nest. If you haven’t been in a hot tent you don’t know what you’re missing. Winter camping is not for the faint of heart but a hot tent is a very inviting environment.

I conked out laying on my cot on top of a 0 degree sleeping bag with a thin little “adventure blanket” over my feet. Eventually the fire went out… which I slept through. As the temperature dropped, the adventure blanket got pulled up snugly. Then I burrowed into the sleeping bag. Just gradually nestling in as the temperature drops. This is how I adapt to a fabric shelter in winter temps. It works great.

I woke up long after the fire was out. My 0 degree bag was still toasty warm. I hadn’t even zipped it up. But those beers I’d drank had to go somewhere. So I stumbled out into the moonlight. It was gorgeous, as moonlight always is.

[Warning, camping is as much about uncouth necessity as it is moonlight poetics. Skip the next section if you wish.]

Back at the tent I decided to kindle the fire again. It’s not that I was cold, but that I knew a relit stove would heat the tent for several hours. Light something in the middle of the night and you’re less likely to wake up in a frozen tent at dawn. Of course my 0 degree bag is fine for sleeping but I like waking to boots and jacket and such thawed. I lit the woodstove again. As usual my tent was like a little oven within 15 minutes.

You almost have to let that initial heat wave die down before falling asleep. If you throttle back the airflow to the fuel too soon it might go out instead of maximizing the BTUs out of your limited fuel. I was glad I had all that nicely stacked wood right at hand instead of rummaging around in the night to find fuel.

Since I had time to kill, I thought about finding an outhouse. Earlier I’d seen a washhouse but the doors were locked. Makes sense to shut down water in unheated buildings over the winter. Surely there was a creaky old off grid outhouse somewhere? Maybe nobody needed one? Presumably, the other campsite people were using their self contained plumbing systems.

I decided it was time to test the final frontier.

Every camping trip should be a testing and training day for the next one. We must learn of stagnate! In this case, I was at a nearly abandoned State Park which surely had an outhouse somewhere but I also had my “Luggable Loo” (which I affectionately call “shitbucket”). I spring for expensive Mylar double bag waste bags (which have bio-gel and other features). Some marketer named them “Double Doodie“. Don’t blame me for dumb names.

I know the manly thing is to crap on a stump like the bears do but it’s not like a Park is the wilderness. Also, the pairing of “Luggable Loo” and “Double Doodie” is actually quite civilized. It’s easier on the knees. Not gross like you’d think. You don’t have to dig into frozen soil. I know people are resistant to the idea of a bucket, but it’s a big step above not having one. I heartily recommend a Luggable Loo for anyone who’s doing car camping (obviously it’s not an option for backpackers!)

Also, I was in a State Park. I think they’d frown on bearded bloggers taking unauthorized dumps. 🙂

I’d tried the paired bucket/bag system but never in freezing weather and never inside the tent. I always used them outdoors; behind a bush or something. It works very well. IT IS NOT YUCKY! Get over your biases!

There’s no cover in a State Park. I intended the system to be used “inside” in brutal winter blizzards so I might as well test it when it’s not mission critical. It worked very well. The biogel really does it’s job, plus I’d just fired the woodstove and it was easily 70 degrees in the tent. So much less physically challenging than squatting while wearing ten layers of jackets.

When I was done I put the bucket (with lid sealed tightly) outside the tent, where it promptly froze. It was more sanitary than almost any possible situation. I’d preformed the most non-yucky State Park dump ever. (Is there an award for that?)

So now you know a new technology. Creepy frozen State Park concrete outhouses (or trying to hammer a hole into frozen soil in the legitimate forest) can be replaced by a much more civilized approach.

Note: This is one of the advantages of solo camping. If there were two people in the tent I think the Luggable Loo would be fatally embarrassing.

[\Warning]

It was the middle of the night but I didn’t feel like sleeping. My tent was warm and cozy and I was happy. I sat by the stove in my lawnchair reading a Sci-Fi novel from the 1950’s. (I usually read from Kindle but this book was on dead tree.) Lately I’ve been reading less than usual. I think stress takes you away from reading for pleasure. I probably spent half the night reading by the little woodstove. Very peaceful.

More in my next post…

Having made it to camp, I patted myself on the back for attaining escape velocity. The gravity well of home is deep!

I setup my tent right away. My tent is a miracle of technology and toughness. If you want to go polar bear hunting on an ice floe in Greenland, this is the gear you need. It seemed stupid to deploy it in a frozen mostly abandoned park.

I was definitely over / well equipped like someone using a tactical nuke to kill a mosquito. But then again I will eventually (and already have) use them in much harsher conditions. Also you should practice using your gear in non-mission critical times so you’re experienced for when it really matters.

I’m providing Amazon links so you know about the psycho-tent I’m discussing. I get a tiny kickback if you buy anything off my links so thanks if you use them. All the stuff linked has served me well and I bought them with my own money. But be warned that these are very expensive tents. They’re overkill for many uses. If you’re an average beginner “3-season” camper you can buy something a lot cheaper. (Even I use a different and cheaper tent in the summer.) Here goes: Russian Bear Market UP 2, Caminus M Stove, Teton XXL Cot, Teton XXL Mattress.

Being exquisitely equipped for the ultimate worst conditions is fun but I was embarrased to be on a plain old campsite. Then again I learned something. The tent came with special ice stakes that will auger right into pure ice and also dig into frozen soil. You can anchor the tent like it’ll ride a hurricane (which I tend to do… I’d rather spend a few minutes drilling spikes than fret about conditions).

The ice stakes would work perfectly except the campsite had been plowed. The plow removed the snow/ice in which I would otherwise anchor. All I had was frozen heavily packed (nearly pavement) gravel. Frozen packed gravel isn’t the same as frozen soil. I couldn’t get a stake firmly into it. Finally I anchored a few points with very long guy lines going to a tree, a power pole, a hunk of cement, and one spot of green grass soil (where the ice spike worked great). Every trip you learn a little more.

My tent is supposedly a quick setup but in real world conditions, it seems like I dither about an hour before it’s done. Partly that’s me moving slow. Also I wasted far too much time on stakes.

Once the tent was up (including the woodstove and cot) I assessed my firewood bundle. Pure shit! It would burn, but for my little woodstove I wanted something better. I wandered off into the campsite adjacent forest and gathered up a bunch of small diameter wood. Think pool cue. I wanted it small and easy to light. It wasn’t a bitter cold blizzard so I was more worried about “easy to light” than “stay burning a long time”.

I brought my gatherings to the tent and broke everything up shorter than necessary. This made a big pile of small wood. I’d probably gone overboard with the little hunks of wood.

For bigger wood, I found a nice fallen log about 7″ diameter and was about to attack it with my little electric chainsaw. Chainsaws ain’t welcome in parks but an electric is almost silent and the log was dead. Alas, I’d forgotten my chainsaw. Rookie mistake! I’d also forgotten my splitting maul. Whoops.

Once the tent (and nighttime heat) was squared away, I lit a fire in the fire ring using the store bought wood. It mostly smoked. Shitty wood will do that. I separated out a couple of the smaller hunks that would fit well in the little woodstove and stored them in my tent. I probably wouldn’t need them but better safe than sorry.

Eventually I got the fire going enough for good coals and slapped a fat steak on a grill. (I’d brought a grill.) Finally everything was right with the world. I tuned my little shortwave to some oompa oompah Mexican style music. I have no idea where it came from but it had non-ironic tubas. I parked my ass in a lawn chair and cracked a beer that had chilled to near crystalline temps.

A friend texted me. How novel, cell service while camping! Modern conveniences are more welcome in cold conditions. I told him I was listening to shortwave and drinking beer by lantern light.

“What’s on shortwave?”

“I think it’s Radio Free Cuba. I don’t speak Spanish very well so I’m not sure.”

“You’re listening to propaganda.”

“I’m listening to tubas. Let’s do an experiment, click to NPR and tell me the first thing you hear.”

“Too lazy to go to radio. Checking web.” Pause. “Apparently there’s a drought in California and it’s associated with limited electrical power projected for the summer. Wait for it… yep, all this was caused by Republicans.”

“Propaganda!” I chuckled. “The people’s glorious electrical grid is a marvel of production efficiency but suffers at the hands of capitalist bastards who inexplicably choose to have heretical opinions.”

“And no tubas either.”

By this time the steak was done. I enjoyed it immensely.

The cold was definitely a thing. I had trouble eating with cold fingers but using a fork with gloves is a pain in the ass. My beer was cold enough it almost made my teeth hurt. Dinner was delicious anyway. It’s February so I expected some cold and I certainly can’t complain about tasty cold beer and grilled steak.

You’d think I retired to my tent early but I didn’t. I sat there, bundled in heavy jackets sipping nearly frozen beer by a smoldering fire… for hours. I expected the cycling propane furnaces of the stout ice trailers nearby to annoy me but the sound was soothing. I spent hours in the dark. Resting. It did me good.

Eventually the moon rose over the icy scene and it was bedtime. It occurred to me that I’d paid for an electric campsite even though I have a tent. Just another of those services that you pay for whether you want it or not. I’d planned for unwanted but pre-paid AC! I dug around in my truck and came up with a little electric heater. With some fiddling I routed the short cord and had a little 800 watt heater chugging away. I had a 20 amp 120V service that could easily run double that wattage. The little heater tried its best but it was just too small to make a difference under current conditions. Like the stakes that handle ice but not plowed packed gravel, I’d learned something. Also, it was just a little “heat your feet under your office desk” heater and it’s not rugged for camping. (I’ve already ordered a slightly chunkier 1500 watt heater. I’ll test it the next time I’m in a hot tent near AC power. Why not use whatever resources you’ve got?)

I’d considered not lighting the fire in my tent but the heater hadn’t done Jack shit. I know from experience it’s better to act in advance of getting chilled than get lazy and let the chill get in your bones. I lit the stove. Just as it always does, it blew me away. That overpriced little titanium box is like nothing I’ve even experienced. It turns a freezing (literally) tent into a cosy little mini-cabin. Soon I was sitting in my lawnchair (inside the tent) with just jeans and a t-shirt. It was in the high 70’s in 15 minutes. Ridiculously warm!

Basking in the heat, I fell into what might have been the deepest sleep I’ve had in months.

In case you’re wondering, my stove came with a Co2 detector and I do carry it with me. The 9 volt battery was dead. Calm down, I lived.

More in the next post…