...before the gelato (ooooh, gelaaahto)?
Ah yes - not camping, is where we were.
Actually, I like camping. Some of my fondest memories are of camping trips. I've been a lot of places that way. Mountains and rivers and deserts and forests... all differently awesome, all wonderful.
Impossibly bright moon and stars on a cloudless New Mexico night, reflected in a shimmering lake black as the sky-- they aren't kidding when they call it the Land of Enchantment. Cowering in a tent during a deluge in Death Valley, of all places -- I think the night I camped there, the place got all its precipitation for the decade. Canoe camping along the Saco River, Maine (I hear this is something of a canoe freeway these days, but I'm talking 25 years ago). Hot springs in Thermopolis, Wyoming (is that a cool name or what?). Yellowstone and Rocky Mountain National Parks. Grand Canyon. NJ Pine Barrens. Adirondacks. Great trips, great memories. Stories to go with all of 'em.
One particular morning in 1989 I awoke at first light on a California beach, rubbed my eyes, rolled over to look out at the Pacific. And there were two beautiful naked guys. Blond surfers, getting into their wetsuits. I rubbed my eyes again. I decided to move to California.
So yes, camping can rock. Why then would I rather chew on tin foil than go canoe camping this weekend? Because the forecast is for a "100% chance" (hello? 100% is a certainty, not a chance) of heavy rain overnight tonight, and showers all day tomorrow. Damp sleeping bag, damp clothes, damp tent, damp firewood... then the temperature drops to the 40s for tomorrow night, so add cold to the damp, in case you weren't having enough fun already.
Also, I just can't crash on the ground and wake up well-rested the way I used to. And those pads for under your sleeping bag? They just suck.
I'll have to come up with a way to make it comfortable though. There's still more to see out there in the great wide world, and sometimes buildings just get in the way.