Camping is fun because it is so very unpredictable.
All I knew, really, was that I wanted to go camping somewhere around Mt. Hood. I tried doing all kinds of research on the Internet (that usually knows so much, but sometimes knows so shockingly little) and came up with hardly any information. (Okay, there was information, and thanks to Barney, I finally found that information. The truth is that I could not find usefulness in the website’s arcane architecture. I need more than just the name of a campground to get excited about it. I want to see pictures, read campers’ reviews, and order my search results by user score.)
I gathered everything on the list I had excitedly, but neatly written. Everything fit snugly in the back of my pickup. I popped in my freshly burned compilation of Randy Travis country songs to warm my heart. Me and my doggies headed east.
There were two things on the list I had forgotten about as I rushed to get out of Portland. I headed out into the sticks and had traveled a far distance before I realized that I had forgotten those two last things - gas and a map. It crossed my mind to turn back, especially since I had less than a quarter tank of gas left in my truck and absolutely no idea of when I would reach the next town. I chided myself a bit for the mistake and kept driving. I hate turning back.
Luckily I met up with the main road before I ran out of gas. Fifty bucks and a nasty bathroom later, my truck carried me and my cargo up the mountain. We explored a few campgrounds before I found a site that appealed to my intentions. An hour later, my dogs and I were walking down the dirt road to the lake. (This was the very best part of my entire camping adventure.) We eventually found the lake and the dogs went swimming. I threw the stick for them to race for. We were all tired by the time we got back to the site.
That was it. That was the fun part. Well, finishing my book and drinking a soda was pretty good too, but by then the mosquitoes were attacking us relentlessly. (Finished The Time Traveler’s Wife: OMG I loved this book.) After I made myself a little dinner, I decided to build a fire. Me building a fire is like me making a bed. It’s painful, pathetic, and doesn’t work real well without a lot of help. I had thankfully taken Agent’s advice planning for this very situation, and brought our one remaining Duralog from over the winter.
The fire went out after an hour or so and I was ready to go to sleep anyway. I crawled into the tent with the dogs and got under the blanket with all my clothes still in use, including my baseball cap. Miso curled up to my feet and I went to sleep. I didn’t sleep very long, though. The main problem was that I am no longer able to successfully sleep on the surface of the hard earth. I didn’t know this about me; I thought for some reason that I could always make due.
The earth was hard and my body could not adjust appropriately. Also, I was cold and I don’t sleep very well when I’m cold. Then it started to thunder and rain. I’ve never heard thunder like this. It was really, really close and the sound it made was out of a horror movie. I wasn’t very frightened, but it kept waking me up. I checked the time a lot and stared out the screen window, begging for the sun to rise.
As soon as Miso started gacking like she does sometimes in the morning, I jumped off the hard, unyielding floor of the tent and unzipped the door (that is usually my favorite part of camping, the unzipping part). I set a new record for breaking down camp while the rain poured on my head. We jumped in the truck and got the hell out of there.
I listened to Randy all the way home, unloaded the truck, ate some oatmeal and jumped in bed. I slept the entire day away. It was all worth it.
