Adaptive Curmudgeon

It was a fun motorcycle ride. I wish it could have gone on forever. Alas, all things are fleeting.

I wisely kept my enthusiasm on a leash. The oncoming storm sounded like the real deal. Hard to imagine it happening on the same planet as the blue sky playground where I happily rode along… but I know better than to get caught out there. I returned to camp long before it was due to hit.

Back at camp I packed all my stuff; including the wildly successful “shitbucket” and the supremely useful little electric chainsaw. I carefully put my shotgun in the back seat, hitched my trailer to the truck, tossed the flat tire in the truck, strapped down the bike, and rolled out.

A half mile out of camp. A gamebird was just standing there in the road!

I put the truck in park, grabbed my shotgun, and… dammit. All my ammo was still on the motorcycle! (You can’t have a loaded shotgun in the truck but I could have had the good sense to stick a few shells in my pocket!)

By the time I ran from the driver’s door to the mounted bike on the trailer, and then to the dirt road in front of my truck… the bird was long gone. Not that I minded. I hadn’t specifically been after birds, I’d been after peace; which I’d found. It had been a successful trip.

The spare tire held even though it was a very long drive home. In the middle of the night, the long delayed weather front hit. All hell broke loose. Even within my house I could barely sleep through the screaming winds.

So I end the story of my camping trip and the previous “glamping” that led up to it. I was happy, tired, spiritually at peace, rejected as a volunteer, and unconcerned about the rejection. I was mentally (if not physically) rested and already dreaming about my next trip. We are specks in the universe; hunkered down when we must and venturing forth to seek wisdom when we’ve the gumption. We progress in fits and starts. Through it all, irrational elements howl pointlessly outside, amounting to nothing.

I wonder what the future holds but I’m not overly concerned. I guess I’ll fix that tire and let the rest of the universe tend to itself.

What better thing could a man do?

Because of the dreary weather, I started a fire in my tent’s stove before zonking out. I slept like bread in a toaster, waking about once every 3 hours to restart the fire. I had prepared more wood than I thought I’d need. I used it all. I slept like a baby.

The next morning was absolutely out of character with the rest of the trip. Glorious sunshine. Bright blue skies. Birds chirping. Just amazing. Like falling asleep in November and waking up in July.

It was Sunday and I was worried that the church would have a service. I needn’t be concerned. Nobody showed up. Unlike the cloudy Friday night that had campers nearby, and unlike the Saturday morning that brought herds of UTVs, this Sunday morning was all for me. Nobody showed up at all!

Despite being human, I’ll never understand humanity’s herd-like ways. I checked my spare tire (still holding air) and wondered where the people had gone. Why was Saturday a migratory event and Sunday completely unpeopled? Why did they vanish exactly when my truck was on a jack? Why be out and about in the forest during the gray previous weather but not this warm and sunny morning? As far as I know it was still hunting season. Was everyone in a church somewhere else? Were they all home watching TV? Did they finally drop the bomb and nobody told me?

I had the world’s most peaceful morning coffee but I was too lazy to cook a proper breakfast. I simply put the pot of chili back on the stove and warmed it up. Delicious!

After that I finally decided to address the elephant in the room. I went to church.

We all have comfort zones and this is not one of mine. I respect both God and religion but stay out of organizations. To quote Groucho Marx; I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member. I just don’t trust people en masse; certainly not with my soul. Yet there was the church and how could I not go within? It gave me refuge when I needed it. I ought to pay my respects.

If you know much about very remote things it’s true that some of the most remote buildings are never locked. A lock on a primitive cabin is just an invitation to a broken door. Instead things are sometimes left wide open in the hopes that nobody will take the more or less nothing that’s within. Also, it might provide shelter to someone in an emergency.

So I clomped up the stairs to the door I knew would be open and peeked in. It was gorgeous. A simple, unadorned place. Were I medieval I might call it a peasant’s church. Simple pews. A cross. A barrel stove in the back. You could imagine people on horseback coming to this place. I suppose, given the way of things, you could imagine horseback peasants coming to this place again.

I sat there a long while and looked at the simple wood cross. Nothing.

Damn! The eternal came to my campfire with a pack of smokes two nights ago but not to the little white church. Why? Because that’s what happened and that’s all there is to it.

It was a beautiful place. I’m absolutely sure God has come to many people right there in that pew where I sat. But not for me. I was a little disappointed.

Walking back to my campsite I wondered about myself. If that sweet little church couldn’t reach my heart then am I truly made of ice?

Soon I was distracted by a chipmunk sniffing around my dirt bike’s tires and I forgot all about church. I own a motorcycle! In a flash I’d suited up, started the cold engine, strapped my hunting gear on top of my survival stuff and rolled out.

It was unseasonably warm but I didn’t trust it. The weather report said Armageddon was on it’s way. I really ought to be hustling home on my spare tire. As a compromise I wore my new suit of full protective gear. It wouldn’t be good for hiking or hunting but if it suddenly started to rain (or I piled into a tree) it would be the safer choice.

I zipped down a forest road, took two random turns and hit a trail I’d done once about a year ago. There are about a million designations of trails, roads, minimum maintenance roads, UTV trails, etc… my favorite are the ones that say “limited to less than 1,000 pounds”. These are specifically trying to warn away the bigger 2 row 4 seat UTVs. “I know the salesman said it would go anywhere, but don’t be stupid.” Me and my 300 pound farm bike zipped around the sign and had a great ride.

It was easy riding and very pretty. I crossed out of forest and into what you might call muskeg. It would be a perfectly reasonable place to find a moose.

Somewhere in the middle I stopped. I was about 5 miles in and maybe 4 miles to the dirt road on the other side. I put the kickstand down, killed the engine, and just stood there.

This! This is church! I stood on some dry dead grass and nibbled on a hunk of beef jerky. My church’s foundation is dirt. I felt amazingly happy. It may be the last warm sunny motorcycle day of the year and I hadn’t missed it! I was out there basking in it. I was where I ought to be.

I had a fun time just buzzing around. I tried to remember I was there for birds but there was nothing for it. I simply didn’t care. If I saw one I’d try to dismount and grab my shotgun. Probably, I wouldn’t be able to get my helmet off in time to aim. Not that I cared. I’d be just as happy looking at the colorful larch and aspen. I was in church y’all!

Last post is next…

I got back to camp at an awkward time; too early to make dinner but too late to go gallivanting. The night before I’d used most of the firewood in the camp (it was pretty crappy anyway) so I decided to “test” my spare tire and my new (year old) electric chainsaw. I got the saw for camping and trails and stuff. It looks like a toy, but it’s a solid piece of kit! Every time I use the little beast I’m impressed.

I unhooked my old utility trailer and left that back at camp. (Along with my dirt bike Honey Badger. I swear it was moping at not being ridden.) I rolled my truck a few miles looking for either a gamebird or a nice dry (and small diameter!) log.

It’s a wet season and I was in a wet area so everything was pretty squishy. But you can hardly fail to find firewood if you’re in a forest. I eventually grabbed probably 10 times what I’d need for the evening. This “over gathering” was on purpose. I intended to “pay it forward” on the firewood I’d found in camp and used when I was up against the deadline of sunset. Indeed I left triple the wood that was present when I arrived.

I was rolling back to camp around sunset. Usually the area is deserted but in this season and at sunset every road had trucks & SUVs creeping along. They were looking for game birds by driving at like 5 MPH. I assume UTVs were doing the same thing on the UTV trails.

It was fun to watch. Having no idea of the “normal way of things” I’d discovered a form of hunting where burly SUVs with burly men roll along slowly while peering out of their vehicle’s open windows. (Note: I’ve taken my share of birds near roads. I’ve just never done it from a street legal vehicle while car pooling. I often walk down the road hoping for the best; with fairly unimpressive results. Other times I buzz around on my dirt bike looking for likely terrain and then hop off for short jaunts; which is a good way to wind up eating bratwurst for dinner instead of wild game. If I took my Dodge with 3 friends on board we’d probably get more birds. I just never thought of it. (Plus I camp solo.)

One vehicle that passed was a Suburban with three(!) rows of seats. Each row had two beefy men dressed in blaze orange. Presumably, if anyone saw a bird all six would pile out like a miniature Marine platoon! Lord help any bird near the road!

Then came the funniest one yet. An old guy with a decrepit sedan was inching along watching the ditches; and yes, he had a passenger and both were dressed in orange. The passenger saluted me with the car of beer he was drinking. God I love my country!

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, a good sized F-250 rolled by. All four windows were rolled down and an orange clad figure peered out of each one. In the driver’s side rear window I saw something that made my day. Michael Myers, the creepy murderer from the “Halloween” movies was looking right at me! I couldn’t believe it.

I salute you, freaky dude in truck! He must have thought “here’s a geezer with a chainsaw,  I’ll put on my mask for when we roll by”. Of all the things I didn’t expect, I didn’t expect that the most!

I was delighted and surprised. I tried to wave so he could see I appreciated the mask but I might have been too slow. They were long gone before I thought to take a snapshot.

I wish there’d been an urbanite photographer  to get the third party view. The photo could have been epic. “Here’s a horror movie death machine guy who’s road hunting while a dingy geezer with a chainsaw is waving at him like Forrest Gump. Don’t leave Boston… ever!”

Actually that’s a thought that stuck with me that evening. I feel like anti-hunters and gun control fans have no idea how many hunters walk among them. It was merely bird season and I was in the world’s most inconvenient location yet the roads were being patrolled strong enough to stop a tank division coming out of Canada! When political winds go gale force and people rant about things I think they have no idea what the real world looks like. I saw a zillion teams of hunter seeker bird assassins on just one late afternoon break of firewood gathering. It’s very much in everybody’s interest that those folks be left to happily chase the wildland equivalent of chicken nuggets. Don’t make them angry. You wouldn’t like them when they’re angry. Just look at the kind of logistics and firepower they deploy to catch a thing the size of a chicken! If I could give the whole world one piece of advice it would be this, leave people alone.

Back at camp I popped open my flask of whiskey and made a vastly more elaborate meal than usual. Why not? I had time to kill and lots of firewood.

The weather was not cheery. It was downright baleful. (I thought a long time to come up with that word and that’s the right word for the conditions; “Portending evil; ominous.” Yep, that’s the right word!)

The air was tense and chilly. It was deathly still. A front was scheduled to move in the following day. It would come with a heaping helping of windstorm. It felt like the existing air was just running out the clock. The dense cloud cover not only blocked the night stars but muffled sound itself. Nothing moved that night. No owls, no wolves, no rustling critters in the forest… nothing. Except me.

For some reason I was in a lighthearted mood. I built up a decent fire and baked bread. Yeah no shit, I made crude croissants out of refrigerated dough from a supermarket in an old cast iron pot. I’d brought some charcoal to do it right but I mis-timed and just used wood. I forgot to bring oil or butter. No matter, it worked ok.

I browned up some stew meat and onions to whip up a basic chili. It was delicious. I see people on YouTube do “fancy camping food” all the time. I’ve been in a rut of Mountain House because it’s handy for when weight or time matters. Now, it’s nice to expand into new ideas. Unfortunately, I made waaaay too much. Cooking for one is hard. The air was about the temperature of a refrigerator and there was no sign of a bear problem so I just sealed the pot and left it on the table.

Then I turned on my shortwave radio and strung an antenna into a nearby tree. What wisdom from the world at large would I find? Turns out, nothing deep. I wound up listening to Rob Zombie’s “Superbeast”. Deep? No. Fun? Yes!

If only I could bottle that moment in time. How would it feel to another; someone peering from a distance. See if you can imagine a deep dark forest completely bereft of humans… save one. Add in a half eaten pot of chili and a swig or two of whiskey and a nice little fire. Imagine the beaded woodsman dancing merrily to Rob Zombie. Imagine all this in the most foreboding weather imaginable. Imagine this happening on the hallowed ground of a church that outlasted the community that built it. Surrounded on three sides by nearly impassible lands and centered amid depopulated not-quite ghost-towns that have been empty for a century.

It was in this place that I had a great night’s sleep in a Russian tent purchased as a solid F.U. to a cratering society.

And I’m not done yet…

I was called. I’ve no time to explain. It’s all chaotic and at the last minute. I was pretty happy to be spared a task I dreaded but while you read this I’m probably doing the deed. Unless I’m not.

Wish me luck.

[This was to be the last post in the series and the series was to end on election day. Alas, I spent too much time pondering the spiritual and gallivanting in the shoal waters of Luggable Loos and other camping gear. At the risk of scrambled chronology, I post these thoughts today; election day. The text goes live via database scheduling, I’m not even sure I’ll be on-line. The rest of the story will continue tomorrow.]

A few days after my return from camping I got an e-mail. Apparently, the urban county that supposedly needs election judges… doesn’t. I’d clearly indicated I was “willing to travel” on their form but they didn’t care. My volunteer application had been routed from the urban zone where staffing is inadequate (and shenanigans might or might not happen) to my rural county which is duller than dirt but has no drama. My rural area dutifully reported to me (as it has before) “we don’t need anyone here”.

They did not call. I am not going.

I’m not upset about it. First of all, the situation spares me a decision I didn’t quite know how to handle. It also spares me several hundred dollars in expenses; not to mention a long and unwelcome trip. Finally, I feel like I did what I was meant to do.

I felt obligated to offer help, which I did. I never felt obligated to kick down the door and force myself on a system that doesn’t want or need it.

I was prepared to do a task. That is all. That doesn’t mean I was looking forward to it. It’s better to do something than bitch about the world. I can truthfully say I wasn’t inert in the face of challenge. It’s the second time in a year that I was ready to go to the mat. It’s the second time I was spared an unpleasant situation. It’s the second time I’m very grateful.

I’ll probably spend most of election day in the forest; as the universe has decreed I should.

I type this well before the actual day of the vote. This text will be stored in the great database in the sky; from which the data will auto-post as scheduled. The post will happen regardless of events. The post will happen if the elections are squeaky clean diamonds of sanity that secure “the consent of the governed”. The post will happen even if everything gets shutdown at midnight and trucks full of ballots arrive at key locations where the windows are blacked out in the complete anthesis of transparency. Mobs in the streets or happy citizens waving little flag stickers… who knows which… or both.

As for myself, I don’t even know if I’ll be on the grid the day the election plays out. I don’t even know if there will be an election day or a month of “lawfare” leading to mushy compromises.

I’m not sure it will do me any good to watch it in real time. I’m not sure it’ll do anyone good. The last time I went to bed in one universe where things were seemingly ordered and there were a few weird hiccups in a few key places. I woke up in another universe where everything had changed. Concertina wire was part of elections and soon we had political prisoners doing hard time for “parading”.

I’ll always felt split by that. The dichotomy is almost visceral. It’s like the innocent act of sleep put me in a parallel universe; we’re here now and there’s no way back.

I don’t know what will happen this election. Neither do you. I pray that it is drama free. I still don’t quite know what to think of the last election. For once I’m not alone. Nobody is really happy with it, on either side. All evidence indicates our society neither confident about the future nor successfully digesting past events.

The guy who showed up at my campsite seemed to think it wasn’t a big deal. It will be as it will. Politics distracts from reality; it divides us from the spiritual. Also, it’s not inconceivable that clean behavior could restore faith in our institutions (though it’s asking too much to heal our society in one fell swoop). I hope it makes things better. And if it doesn’t, that too is how it should be.

Take care everyone.

A.C.

[I return now to the story (and life) so rudely interrupted (for better or worse) by the elections. I hope y’all have been celebrating not just political wins but re-emergence of a society that can manage proper transition of power. Meanwhile, back at camp, I’d just finished a small motorcycle maintenance issue and an exhausting tire change.]

After all that work, I wasn’t in the mood to run my freshly gassed and packed dirt bike. I grabbed my shotgun and my hunting jacket (which is also bristling with survival gear) and headed out on foot. As always, I was alone. This time I was in a genuine “trackless” area.

If you don’t go off trail you might not know this but there’s happy nature and there’s grumpy nature. Two sides of the same coin. The same glorious natural environment that lightens your heart can be a stone cold bitch that’s out to kill you. It all depends on the circumstances.

The place I’d camped was at was the dead end of a spur road that forked into a big chunk of nothing. Five minutes out of camp I was in a roadless area that was last “civilized” a century ago. It has no “hiking paths”. It doesn’t even have UTV trails.

There’s occasional logging action out there but most of that is winter based. Heavy equipment comes in through the swamps when they’re frozen. If you follow their tracks in summer they’ll lead you astray. Overall, this place was a navigational mess.

Navigation tends to settle on three things; points, edges, and areas. There were no edges to the nothing. No “if you get to the ravine you’ve gone too far”. No “the area terminates at a big obvious lake”. No points either. Occasionally a tree that’s a little bigger than the other trees, but nothing that would show up from a distance as a legitimate point of reference. No good views of a mountain peak; I couldn’t even see the sun in the western sky. Nor could you navigate by “areas”. A solid block of pines or a solid block of aspens would give two things upon which to fix your place in the world. This place didn’t have discrete chunks of different conditions so much as a messy dispersed stewpot with a little of this and a little of that. Everything blended into a giant uniform matrix of “this messy stuff here” and it went from forever to forever in all 4 directions.

I wandered around out there hoping I’d see a bird that didn’t hear me coming from a mile away. I was aware of the risk I was taking. I’m perfectly skilled at such things. This particular terrain was extremely maze-like but I’ve been in mazes before. The sky was cloudy and the air was chilly. It felt like it wanted to rain again; it would be a cold icy rain for sure. The sun would set in due time and I couldn’t even identify the sun itself. (The whole sky was a uniform gray.)

I went about a mile; checking behind me often to make sure I’d get back out. Finally I decided the risk reward equation was too far gone. Reward was 4 ounces of bird. Risk was some hunter finding my skull in a decade. A lot of it was that I was tired. If you’re going to do solo things you need a mind firmly under your command. You need to rationally assess your own condition. If you want to pretend you’re something you’re not… stay in town.

It was late afternoon, I was bushed, the place was a maze, it might turn to cold drizzle at any minute, and I’d never been there before. Red flags all. So I turned around and hunted back toward camp.

Call me a wimp if you wish. In my defense, I’ve lived a lot longer than some people who’ve ignored nature’s hints.

Plus, I was just starting a re-read of a good book!

More to come…

Inevitably “tourists” arrived. This is a beautiful place and it’s game season. I knew there would be more action that usual. Even so, I’d underestimated the draw.

All morning, UTVs with 2 or 4 people each kept showing up. It was always the same, the first thing they’d do is run for the outhouse. Then they’d wander off at a much more relaxed pace. There are more UTVs out there than you’d think.

One notable group was a grandma/grandpa set in a shiny new UTV followed by a beaming kid on an archaic 3 wheeler (ATC). Don’t go all safety nerd on me, the kid was riding it just fine. And boy did he look happy!

A few people rolled by very slowly to peer at my tent (which is unusual in design). They did this while failing to address me, the dude sipping coffee right next to the object of interest, how gauche!

One lady emerged from the outhouse and then made a beeline to my camp to look at “the little hut”. She had a chicken and wondered if a tent like that would keep it warm. I suppose so, but it would be the most expensive chicken coop in creation. I offered that if it keeps me alive it’ll keep a chicken alive but for my chickens I just make sure I’ve got enough chickens that they can huddle together. Keeping one chicken warm is hard, keeping 6 or 12 is no problem at all. She ignored my practical idea, which sums up 2022 precisely. We talked about ice roads for a while and then she wandered off. Her chicken must be a hell of a pet.

One fellow stopped and gave me a thumbs up. He had a question; “Is that a Russian tent?”

“Yes it is.”

“Nice.” He enthused. Then he added one more thing. “Fuck politics, I like that Russian tent.” Almost like he was afraid he’d get caught having committed Crimespeak he immediately clammed up and rolled his UTV out of there. Poor guy.

Having encountered a guy afraid of the entire topic, I ponder the Russian angle to what should be peaceful camping equipment. I bought the tent for several irrational reasons; none of which were geopolitical. I don’t have anything against the people of Russia. I think they suffered enough within the Soviet Union; which is gone. It’s not 1962; Khrushchev, Castro, and Kennedy are all dead. I feel like nobody knows the USSR no longer exists and the the Russian Federation is a different thing.

Back on the topic of the tent, I shocked myself at my own commitment when I spent the money. It simply felt right and I did it. It was only a few months after the Afghanistan retreat and not 6 months before a new improved war popped up. There’s always a new improved war. Would sanctions have interfered with the purchase? No idea. Was the eternal calling my bluff? I don’t know that either. How would a man know that?

It’s clearly of Russian origin but it’s built to very high standards. It’s rare. It’s not something you’d find at Gander Mountain. I think that’s funny because a lot of the stuff at Gander Mountain is made in China. I don’t know if I only had one shot to own this tent. I know I’m glad I made the leap when it felt right.

I spent a scandalous length of time making an overly elaborate breakfast. This was a form of procrastination. I really am tired from “life”. I was just out of steam. I had brought my motorcycle (“Honey Badger”) and I’m equipped to take the little beast on trails looking for game birds. But there’s a time when the right thing to do is to percolate coffee and do nothing. It was a decision made as much by my body as my mind.

I began reading a tattered old paperback. Robinson Crusoe!

Soon a new kind of tourist began filtering in. Bird hunters started arriving. UTV’s with 2 or 4 orange clad, shotgun toting bird slayers made the same beeline to the same outhouse as the “tourists”; but they did it with more armaments. Pretty soon so many groups of UTVs had shown up that I couldn’t tell when one cluster left and the next arrived.

I’d only read the first chapter of Robinson Crusoe when the onslaught of people finally drove me into motion. With coffee perking lazily on the fire I was set to read all through a chilly but pretty day. I gave up when three UTV’s (some with four seats) showed up toting a grand total of 5 men, 2 women, and 2 dogs. How many birds are out there?

I rolled my motorcycle off the trailer and prepared to go… somewhere. Alas, I discovered an annoying maintenance issue. The chain was too slack. The proper solution is to jack it up on a bike stand (which I don’t own) so the rear tire is suspended. After it’s suspended loosen the rear axle and twist a couple of “snail brackets” to push the rear axle back a bit. It’s not complicated.

Last time I did this while camping I used an old tree stump to elevate the bike. It worked. This time there were no appropriate stumps. That made the simple task into a struggle.

I strove mightily, finally solving the situation by balancing the bike on front tire and kickstand while perilously leaning it over my hunched shoulders just enough to lift the rear tire off the ground. It was a dumb, dangerous, solution and hard work too. However, it got the job done. I lubed the (now tight) chain, checked the gas, loaded the usual survival equipment (I ride loaded for bear), and was ready to go.

Frankly I was pleased I’d solved the chain dilemma. “Nothing has worked out but everything has been more or less drama free” I thought. Everything could have been a disaster but I’d handled each new issue like I knew what I was doing. Nice.

Then I made a discovery that kyboshed everything.

The truck was on a flat! Not cool when you’re a million miles from nowhere! (As a practical matter a rear flat on a dually is something I could probably ignore it enough to limp to a garage. Not that there were any garages anywhere nearby.) I wanted to ignore it and simply ride away on Honey Badger; let “tomorrow Curmudgeon” deal with it.

But it was better to deal with the task at hand when many people were around. There were six people hanging around the outhouse. Including a sweet old retired couple cooking a picnic on a little BBQ. Something could go wrong. If that happened it would be advantageous to my safety. Also, what if I needed to haul the tire to a shop? My motorcycle can get me to civilization but it can’t haul a truck tire. There was a chance I’d need to beg a favor!

I lowered the spare, checked that it was holding pressure (it was, and frankly it’s nicer than my other tires), and started struggling with lug nuts. 8 lug nuts sounds cool until you have to do them by hand. I jacked up the truck, swapped the tires, re-installed the lugs, set her down, and retorqued the lug nuts. That doesn’t sound like much but it was quite a workout.

I’d started the weekend already tired. Then I’d done some light motorcycle fiddling. I’d followed up by swapping the rear tire on a truck that’s just about as big as consumer trucks get. I was out of steam!

I also noticed something, the instant my truck was in the air EVERYONE VANISHED. Literally dozens of people coming and going TURNED INTO NOBODY AT ALL. What’s up with that?

Well I’m used to working without a net so no big deal. I’d done all that grunting and lug nut torqueing without so much as a nod from any of the UTV people. There’s no mystery in that. The UTV people that might have been incoming seemed to know to go elsewhere. Now that’s a mystery.

More in the next post…

I was exhausted. From one point of view I was just a loser sitting on a tree stump whining at the universe; a distraught redneck talking to himself next to a campfire. From another point of view, I was working through the mysteries of life; just as all men have done since the dawn of time… or at least the portion of mankind that is aware enough to care.

Indeed, what is the purpose? Why are we here? And finally, what’s the right thing to do?

The fire had died down. I checked that it wasn’t going anywhere, pissed on a fern, and called it a day. I felt like I’d just taken a test. I hoped I’d passed.

Stumbling in the darkness, I sought out the tent I’d bought with what I thought was going to be my last paycheck. I spent big bucks on my hot tent and the thing is a fortress. I’d already setup the interior firebox (knowing that starting a fire in the middle of the night is hard on a half asleep brain). All it would take as a match to warm things up. But didn’t light it. I was too worn out to mess with it. I crawled into my sleeping bag and went straight to sleep. I was slightly chilled from my long vigil but it didn’t matter. I lacked the energy to light the woodstove.

I was disappointed when I woke after only a brief rest. Then I checked my clock and realized I’d slept for hours. The only reason I was awake was because I had to take a leak. I guessed I’d been zonked out for at least 3 hours.

It was raining. I don’t have a thermometer but it was biting. It seemed just barely warm enough for the rain to be rain instead of snow. I lit the fire and the tent went from chilly to sauna. In 10 minutes it was noticeably warmer, in 20 it was like a toasty little oven. If you’ve never camped in a hot tent, you’d be surprised. It’s quite the experience.

I adjusted vents and throttled the stove’s air but I couldn’t fall asleep. Except I woke up an hour later. I’d been falling asleep so deeply it’s like time warped. (Before you get all safety freak on me, I have a smoke detector in the tent.)

This time it was the sound of an engine that woke me. Some jackass was coming to visit the clan that was camped nearby… or maybe the Mad Max dudes escaped Australia. Whoever it was revved a loud diesel engine like he was going “roll coal” in the forest.

He probably meant to arrive loudly as a joke to his compatriots. He probably didn’t realized I was there (my tent is pretty well camouflaged and I know he didn’t see it). I heard his boisterous arrival at the camp greeted with some shouting. I could imagine what they were saying: “Quiet down jackass, my kids are sleeping!” Which, I have to admit, he did.

By 7:00 am the fire was out. I took a leak and restarted the fire and boom… out like a light. I was dead asleep AGAIN. Apparently, I was REALLY tired.

You might think I’d greet the day that followed the quiet thoughtful night with the happy demeanor of a man who’s soul feels pure. Nope, I hate mornings and I hate everything about them. I’m only happy after I’ve had my first cup of coffee.

I may have mentioned this before but humans annoy the shit out of me every friggin’ morning. For some reason they get up too early. I wouldn’t mind that but as soon as they’re awake they start talking. People, if observed from a mental distance, sound like a fucking penguin rookery. I, when alone, can go all day without talking. I’ll nod or say a word to the dog, but that’s it. Most people open their yap the instant their eyes open… like baby birds. Ugh!

Anyway, I don’t know why this is but I’ve also noticed that many people camp in groups and that people who camp in groups always start making a racket at the ass crack of dawn. This always involves a lot of talking and invariably pisses off the kids that they’ve brought with them. You can tell by the crying of jostled and annoyed infants. It’s as predictable as night and day. The poor kids are sound asleep in comfy sleeping bags and then some nitwit ruins the whole thing for no particular reason. If you can’t sleep in when removed from cell phones and jobs, when the only thing around are trees and dirt, then you can’t sleep in until you’re dead… which is probably how it is for some of them.

By the time I was sipping coffee they’d been shouting, yelling, laughing, crying (children want to sleep late too), and clanging pots and pans for a good long time. They rolled out in a caravan of 3 trucks, one ice shack, a pop-up camper, and a couple of UTVs. Presumably they were hunting, but do you need to roll out with your pop-up to chase a pheasant? Probably they were in a rush to get home and away from the quiet splendor of nature.

Anyway, as soon as they were gone the place was dead silent… as I prefer.

The silence and emptiness gave me a moment to test some camping equipment. I bought a luggable loo years ago. I’ve never used it and I wanted to see how it would work. This was unnecessary as there were two very fine outhouses near the church, but what’s to become of humanity if a dude can’t shit in a bucket once in a while?

Turns out, it worked very well. Nice to know.

Did I end a post talking about a dump? Yes, I did. I could’ve planned it better but that’s not how I roll. If the story pauses after a shitbucket, the story did that and not me.

Let’s see if I works out better in my next post…