Friday Follies ~~ Camping?

When I was a kid, I used to take my bike and go camping.

That sounds good, doesn’t it?  Some explanation is in order.  The bike was my, aging but still trusty, Schwinn.  It was a tank.  (I hadn’t yet, invented mountain biking.)  I would roll my sleeping bag, a ground tarp, and a shelter tarp, into my pack, then I’d strap the whole affair, along with a bag of food and sundries, to the bike and head off.  I would then spend one or two nights out in the woods, and come back on Sunday morning, in time to get cleaned up for church.

In memory, those trips were marathon adventures, deep into the unexplored woodlands, a long way from home.

As an adult, I’ve been back to the scene.  I lived in a rural area.  The “woods” were not all that far away.  In point of fact, the fire road I most frequently used was less than four miles from home.  I can’t be sure, but I think that the “trail” I would take was only a mile or two up that fire road.  And thought it seemed much farther, I doubt I was more than a half mile into the woodland.

Still, these were great adventures.  More, their singular attraction was that no one bothered me.  I didn’t have to deal with siblings, or parental instructions.  I was free.  I was my own “man.”

Fast forward with me now.  It is some years later.  The “sainted three from Mount Tam” have “invented,” and more importantly successfully commercialized, the mountain bike.  The whole mountain bike “boom” is taking place.

Personally, I’d done my service in the U.S. Army.  After that service, I’d sworn several might oaths to the effect that I would never, short of dire necessity, ever again willingly go camping.

I bought a mountain bike.  I started learning to ride the thing off road.  This was a blast.

I have this odd bent of mind.  I want to justify my toys in some utilitarian way.  I like to combine enthusiasms and activities.  An idea began to take root.  I had those idyllic memories of bicycle and camping.  My mountain bike was a way to reach really remote areas.  Perhaps I should go camping with the mountain bike.  Then I could spend an entire weekend riding.  I wouldn’t have to go through the time consuming complications of returning from the trial, eating, sleeping, and going back to the trail.

At some point, almost without realizing it, I reached a decision.  I started planning, and acquiring equipment.  I mounted a rear rack on my bike.  (This was before we discovered full suspension.)  I purchased some equipment, and borrowed or rented other things.

I made just about every tenderfoot mistake in the book.  I overloaded, counting on the carrying capacity of the bike.  I didn’t practice with the equipment I was taking.  I allowed way too little time to arrive at the trail head.  I radically under-estimated the time and effort required to reach my intended destination.

As a result of all that, I arrived at my proposed site late.  It was dark.  It was raining.  I didn’t have adequate lights.  My batteries ran out.

I managed to make a cold and soggy camp, and to find something that I could eat without cooking.  I shared my wet bedding with a small army of creatures.  Most of them bit.  My sleeping bag was too warm, but if I stuck my head out, every mosquito in the south eastern US descended on me.  (Did I mention I had no bug netting?)

In the morning, the rain had stopped, but everything was soaked, and weighed twice as much.  Packing it up was difficult.  Riding out, on the slick (and then mostly uphill) trail was difficult to almost suicidal.

Upon my return, I was asked about the trip.  “Did you have a good time?”  My less than truthful reply was an enthusiastic “Yes.”  And again,  “When are you going again?”  Reply, “I haven’t the faintest.”  (For which read “Never!”)

Have I kept that vow?  Not quite, but that’s another story.