Last weekend, I had the opportunity to do something I haven’t done since I was a sophomore in college some 17 years ago. I went camping. Now, there’s a reason I haven’t done it in 17 years. That reason is that the ground and I aren’t on the best of terms. It’s hard and cold and unfeeling, and I’m applying 280 pounds of weight in one spot all the time. That’s like having a needle sticking in your back, which is what it felt like sleeping on the ground Saturday night.
When I was a young Mongo, and not so angry, I used to go camping at Prince Gallitzin. If not staying there, we would visit our friends who had a camper up at Cutty's campground, which is in between route 711 and 31, in Saltlick, PA. But the most recent trips I went on were in college, either camping on the fringe of Ocean City, MD or at Shawnee State Park. However, this weekend, we stayed a little closer to home, just deep enough into the mountains of Fayette Nam and into Somerset County.
We took the little one and the LP (La Papa as my wife and her friend used to refer to my father-in-law as when we met) up to visit my sister-in-law at Scottyland which is way up there in the Laurel Highlands, near Seven Springs. Now, Scottyland is one of those places where people get rooted in their camping ways. They pay somewhere around $1200-$2200 a year for a site. Some have no hookups, which they call “primitive” and some are full supersize sites, which the other campers call “snob knob”. Some people, up there, take their camping seriously. One trailer looked like a mini two story house, complete with a stone walled deck and outdoor wet bar.
The site we stayed at was right on the lake, which to be fair was more of a pond that you could walk across. It was along the main drag around the “lake” where campers were butted up against each other and most people know what their neighbors are doing at 2AM when the lights go out.
We pitched a tent… not in a good way… in the back yard next to the fire ring. We spent the bulk of the day fishing for the same blue gill and watched the drama unfold in another scintillating episode of Red Neck ER as two guys from the Off-Off-Off Broadway run of O’ Brother Where Art Thou performed CPR on a fish that had swallowed a hook. The action was suspenseful in that it took them at least 30 seconds to get out an entire sentence. One guy was stationed to our left and the other guy was stationed to our right and they proceeded to have a conversation over top of our campsite that was just quality stuff and I could hang on every word…. From a noose… in a tall tree.
“Heeeey…. Dooo yooou haaaave some neeeedle noooose plierrrrrs?”
“No, we don’t.”
“Ohhhhh, allllllll riiiiiiiight. Thannnnnks.”
Then his buddy chimed in from the bank on the other side of us.
“Whaaat haaaapened?”
“Welllll, I thiiiink heee swallloowed the hoooook.”
The next hour was spent watching as both men, knelt on the ground over the fish, performing open mouth surgery trying to retrieve the hook.
Really? Now, I’m no fisherman, which is apparent from this story, but I would think that the fish should have been dead long before Cleetus over there spit out the word, “hoooook.” Which means, why be delicate? Gut the dead bastard and retrieve your hook. Still, as I said, I’m not a fisherman, so I don’t know if a fish can live for an extended period of time with a hook in its belly. I know if can probably live a lot longer than it can sucking wind on the bank of a pond. What was so special about that hook? I’m guessing it Cleetus’ last hook or only hook or maybe these two just weren’t the brightest crayons in the box. When my wife asked me how long can a fish live out of water, I replied, “Till the end of a Faith No More video.”
After Red Neck ER went to commercial, we took a tour of the campground, performing a ninja mission to retrieve a picnic table. One was supposed to be at the site but there wasn’t one. We also got to see what the “primitive” sites were. These were sites that had no plumbing or electric. You were roughing it with a few wooden outhouses along the way. Paddle faster, friends, methinks I hear banjos.
After that, we ate. We ate good. I had homemade deep fried potato chips, hot dogs, chili, awesome clam dip, deer kabobs, and bacon and cheese stuffed jalapenos. Now, we did all this with full awareness that the men’s side of the bathhouse was locked due to, what I was told was “fecal vandalism”, and that the toilet in the camper was not working properly. So, needless to say, there were some tense times in the tent.
Now, the best way to disguise the sound of that dinner coming back on you is to go joy riding in the golf cart. The wind will carry away any fumes and the sound of the engine will cover up the audible. One thing I learned about golf carts at the campground was that most of them had huge tires and lift kits. Apparently, there was some correlation between the size of your truck and the golf cart. Also, this being Southwestern Pennsylvania, you can rest assured that a lot of the campers, no matter how run down and awful they appeared, were fully equipped with a 47” or better flat screen television hooked up outside and tuned to the Steelers-Buffalo game. Some things are non-negotiable when it comes to camping. Meanwhile, I had no cell reception the entire weekend. Other sights to behold was the construction light trees set up to illuminate what must have been a phenomenal game of corn hole. So phenomenal that they couldn’t just quit because of darkness. We also saw one of those huge Paul Bunyan statues that scared the crap out of my kid.
At the end of the night, we sat around a fire that proceeded to cook us like marshmallows. My legs became Deep Fried Woods Off. I’m pretty sure that stuff shouldn’t be exposed to an open flame and our fire big enough to be picked up by Curiosity on Mars. The kid crashed and my wife and sister-in-law nearly did after taking a late night golf cart ride down through the primitive area where an overturned outhouse prompted my sister-in-law’s drunken statement, “They shipped the flitter!”
In the morning, I punched the ground for making it so hard on me and we gathered up our stuff and headed home. We drove on out of the campground, passing by the glittering beer cans that littered the corners of each site. The Sunday morning dew mixed with the effervescent remainder of Milwaukee’s Beast and Budweiser, with just a subtle hint of Skoal filled saliva. Ahhh, camping.
From what I was told, there is a guy with a bit of a mental handicap that goes around and collects all the beer cans from the various sites. If you ask him about the owner, he will tell you that he is a “peepee and an asshole”. And, if that wasn’t enough of a visual for you, he points to each body part as he announces it; hopefully in the right order.
So, that was our camping trip and I will never forget all the good times; fish surgery, flitted shippers, peepees and assholes. Those will be my memories.
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Showing posts with label camping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label camping. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Friday, March 14, 2008
How to pack a life in a car
It seems rather premature to discuss vacations and road trips when outside my window I still see salt covered cars and ice dunes in the parking lot. However, let us turn our thoughts towards warmer weather and packing the car for trips. You don't have any choice, so just sit down and stop bugging your sister or I'll turn this blog around so, help me, I swear.
As I look at what it takes to go anywhere with my eight month old, I'm reminded that this is payback for my parents. They, of course, packed all of us kids into a truck or a station wagon for long trips to the beach and to college. I considered my Father a master packer, being able to utilize every available space in the vehicle for storage of our stuff. I took that same approach when purchasing a replacement vehicle for limping 97' Chevy Cavalier three years ago. While my younger, less experienced packer of a wife, wanted a car with a good sound system. She even went as far as to suggest the ability to install extra speakers. That way, we could blast our greatest hits of Snoop Dogg and Maroon 5. After patting her on her head and chuckling at her naivety, I reminded her that, even though this would eventually become her car after we have a child, she would need the extra space for a car seat and everything the child owns.
Back to my Father. The man drove a Chevy Custom Deluxe Truck with a cap on the back. This truck had seen it all. When we went camping, it was able to tow a camper that contained all of our stuff, yet the cab of the truck could not contain all of their kids. My Dad became the inventor of the wonderful thing, which I thought was me, until the age of ten. The wonderful thing is simply a metaphor for something that previously existed in nature as some other sort of object or objects which have been disassembled and rebuilt into another functional object for which it was not originally designed for. One example of the wonderful thing was a charcoal grill built entirely out of a 55 gallon drum, lawnmower wheels, my childhood swing set, and counter top remnants. This fully functioning grill gave my Dad backyard supremacy in the realm of burger and hot dog grilling, allowing him to simultaneously cook for an entire graduation party without having to reload the grill. Another example of a wonderful thing was a homemade forge constructed out of a kettle grill and a shop vac that he used to build other wonderful things.
The most wonderful thing my Father built was an insert for that Custom Deluxe. The components for the insert have been regarded as a trade secret but I can tell you that part of it was fashioned from an old table top. The insert mirrored the functionality of the eating table in the camper. By day, the table and its bench seats served as a place to eat breakfast and play Pit and UNO. By night, it transformed and became a bed for my sister. Just like the camper, the insert slash wonderful thing was more than meets the eye. It also consisted of two bench seats that could be opened up for storage and a table post affixed to a base that slid into the bed of the truck. On long trips it served as a place to store three adolescent kids, playing Trouble. You could only play Trouble in the back of the truck, because all the pieces fit securely into holes on the board and the die was encased in the "Pop-O-Matic" container. We tried playing Trivial Pursuit once but some dumbass cut my Dad off on I-95 and cards flew everywhere. We no longer can finish the game as the pink game piece, nor will we ever find out how many cherubs are located on the game board. (In case you wondered, there's actually 19. Two on either side of every "wedge" square, six around the hub in the middle, and one in a pink category square somewhere on the board. But, I digress. ) By night, the post could be removed and the table top positioned in between the bench seats. All four cushions came together to form the mattress. This is where my brother slept. Where did I sleep? There was a bunk right above the couch in the camper that I wedged myself into for about 4 years until I kept banging my head on the ceiling getting in and out.
Alas, the insert was laid to rest along with the truck when my father had replaced the Custom Deluxe with a Dodge Ram in the early 90's. The Dodge also got some packing use out of it when I started college. For some unknown reason, I felt the need to move all my Earthly possessions with me to South Carolina where I was enrolled at Coastal Carolina University. Hey, you never know when you might need something and being 12 hours away didn't help. My father managed to pack everything I owned including another wonderful thing in the form of a headboard with shelves. This technically wasn't a wonderful thing, but considering that it used to be a tree, let's not split hairs. The cushions from the old insert survived the transition from Chevy to Dodge and I rode the entire 12 hours on them in the back of the truck in a space that reminded me of the bunk from the camper. Funny thing about traveling south in the back of a truck. If you leave home wearing shorts, you arrive wearing shorts. I transferred to the University of Pittsburgh in January of 1994, and found myself wearing shorts when we left Mytle Beach, and then having to put on more layers somewhere around Virginia after dark.
A 1984 Pontiac Firebird similar to mine
College moves and desertion of an apartment in under three hours aside, my father was able to pack a car or a truck to the hilt, never necessitating the need for more than one trip. This is something I have studied and tried to hone as a marketable skill. My first car, a 1984 Pontiac Firebird didn't really allow for a lot of trunk space, but the "Plugger" in me decided that I would not be deterred by such obstacles. In 1994, I packed enough stuff for myself and my girlfriend to take a vacation to Ocean City, Maryland. For anyone who has ever owned a 80's model Firebird knows it has a shallow trunk with a big hump between it and the back seat. Without sacrificing visibility out of the rear window, I managed to pack for a week long trip. My second car was, of course, my Chevy Cavalier. I loved this car for two reasons. Aside from some starter problems, it never let me down in getting from Point A to Point B. I drove that car everywhere. Staring from my home in Southwestern Pennsylvania, it went to Ohio, New York, West Virginia, Maryland, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Canada. Secondly, it had a fold down bench seat in the back which allowed for great packing possibilities. Again, I managed to pack enough stuff for a week's vacation without sacrificing needed visibility. When I bought my first Christmas tree (It was artificial as I am allergic) the box, containing the seven foot spruce, slid smoothly into the trunk and onto the folded down back seat. When I bought my first 32 inch television, it fit in between the back seat and trunk laying face down on a blanket to guard the screen. Unfortunately, I had to remove the set from the packing box as it did not fit in the car whole. Still, I managed to do it.
1997 Chevy Cavalier
In 2005, after nearly 150 thousand miles and a blown head gasket, I sadly said goodbye to my Cavalier in favor of my new car, a Malibu Maxx. This five door sweetie allows me hatch functionality with 60/40 split fold down bench seats in the back and a fold down passenger seat for hauling long items. I've yet to max out the storage space even with the little one.
2005 Chevy Malibu Maxx
While, I revel in my accomplishment of being a master packer, I take no credit as I was taught by the best. However, I'm sure I'll be faced with challenges in packing strategy in the future as I will have to now pack for three people to go to the beach, losing a portion of my coveted backseat to a car seat. Not to mention having to eventually pack the entire life of my kids when they go to college. By then, I will have moved on to another vehicle, but will always keep an eye on how much storage space comes with my purchase. Perhaps I will echo my Father's creative side and construct some sort of enhancement for maximization of minimal space. After all, I want to make sure I have lots of space to move my wonderful things from point A to point B.
As I look at what it takes to go anywhere with my eight month old, I'm reminded that this is payback for my parents. They, of course, packed all of us kids into a truck or a station wagon for long trips to the beach and to college. I considered my Father a master packer, being able to utilize every available space in the vehicle for storage of our stuff. I took that same approach when purchasing a replacement vehicle for limping 97' Chevy Cavalier three years ago. While my younger, less experienced packer of a wife, wanted a car with a good sound system. She even went as far as to suggest the ability to install extra speakers. That way, we could blast our greatest hits of Snoop Dogg and Maroon 5. After patting her on her head and chuckling at her naivety, I reminded her that, even though this would eventually become her car after we have a child, she would need the extra space for a car seat and everything the child owns.
Back to my Father. The man drove a Chevy Custom Deluxe Truck with a cap on the back. This truck had seen it all. When we went camping, it was able to tow a camper that contained all of our stuff, yet the cab of the truck could not contain all of their kids. My Dad became the inventor of the wonderful thing, which I thought was me, until the age of ten. The wonderful thing is simply a metaphor for something that previously existed in nature as some other sort of object or objects which have been disassembled and rebuilt into another functional object for which it was not originally designed for. One example of the wonderful thing was a charcoal grill built entirely out of a 55 gallon drum, lawnmower wheels, my childhood swing set, and counter top remnants. This fully functioning grill gave my Dad backyard supremacy in the realm of burger and hot dog grilling, allowing him to simultaneously cook for an entire graduation party without having to reload the grill. Another example of a wonderful thing was a homemade forge constructed out of a kettle grill and a shop vac that he used to build other wonderful things.
The most wonderful thing my Father built was an insert for that Custom Deluxe. The components for the insert have been regarded as a trade secret but I can tell you that part of it was fashioned from an old table top. The insert mirrored the functionality of the eating table in the camper. By day, the table and its bench seats served as a place to eat breakfast and play Pit and UNO. By night, it transformed and became a bed for my sister. Just like the camper, the insert slash wonderful thing was more than meets the eye. It also consisted of two bench seats that could be opened up for storage and a table post affixed to a base that slid into the bed of the truck. On long trips it served as a place to store three adolescent kids, playing Trouble. You could only play Trouble in the back of the truck, because all the pieces fit securely into holes on the board and the die was encased in the "Pop-O-Matic" container. We tried playing Trivial Pursuit once but some dumbass cut my Dad off on I-95 and cards flew everywhere. We no longer can finish the game as the pink game piece, nor will we ever find out how many cherubs are located on the game board. (In case you wondered, there's actually 19. Two on either side of every "wedge" square, six around the hub in the middle, and one in a pink category square somewhere on the board. But, I digress. ) By night, the post could be removed and the table top positioned in between the bench seats. All four cushions came together to form the mattress. This is where my brother slept. Where did I sleep? There was a bunk right above the couch in the camper that I wedged myself into for about 4 years until I kept banging my head on the ceiling getting in and out.
The 1980 Chevy Custom Deluxe
Alas, the insert was laid to rest along with the truck when my father had replaced the Custom Deluxe with a Dodge Ram in the early 90's. The Dodge also got some packing use out of it when I started college. For some unknown reason, I felt the need to move all my Earthly possessions with me to South Carolina where I was enrolled at Coastal Carolina University. Hey, you never know when you might need something and being 12 hours away didn't help. My father managed to pack everything I owned including another wonderful thing in the form of a headboard with shelves. This technically wasn't a wonderful thing, but considering that it used to be a tree, let's not split hairs. The cushions from the old insert survived the transition from Chevy to Dodge and I rode the entire 12 hours on them in the back of the truck in a space that reminded me of the bunk from the camper. Funny thing about traveling south in the back of a truck. If you leave home wearing shorts, you arrive wearing shorts. I transferred to the University of Pittsburgh in January of 1994, and found myself wearing shorts when we left Mytle Beach, and then having to put on more layers somewhere around Virginia after dark.
A 1984 Pontiac Firebird similar to mine
College moves and desertion of an apartment in under three hours aside, my father was able to pack a car or a truck to the hilt, never necessitating the need for more than one trip. This is something I have studied and tried to hone as a marketable skill. My first car, a 1984 Pontiac Firebird didn't really allow for a lot of trunk space, but the "Plugger" in me decided that I would not be deterred by such obstacles. In 1994, I packed enough stuff for myself and my girlfriend to take a vacation to Ocean City, Maryland. For anyone who has ever owned a 80's model Firebird knows it has a shallow trunk with a big hump between it and the back seat. Without sacrificing visibility out of the rear window, I managed to pack for a week long trip. My second car was, of course, my Chevy Cavalier. I loved this car for two reasons. Aside from some starter problems, it never let me down in getting from Point A to Point B. I drove that car everywhere. Staring from my home in Southwestern Pennsylvania, it went to Ohio, New York, West Virginia, Maryland, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Canada. Secondly, it had a fold down bench seat in the back which allowed for great packing possibilities. Again, I managed to pack enough stuff for a week's vacation without sacrificing needed visibility. When I bought my first Christmas tree (It was artificial as I am allergic) the box, containing the seven foot spruce, slid smoothly into the trunk and onto the folded down back seat. When I bought my first 32 inch television, it fit in between the back seat and trunk laying face down on a blanket to guard the screen. Unfortunately, I had to remove the set from the packing box as it did not fit in the car whole. Still, I managed to do it.
1997 Chevy Cavalier
In 2005, after nearly 150 thousand miles and a blown head gasket, I sadly said goodbye to my Cavalier in favor of my new car, a Malibu Maxx. This five door sweetie allows me hatch functionality with 60/40 split fold down bench seats in the back and a fold down passenger seat for hauling long items. I've yet to max out the storage space even with the little one.
2005 Chevy Malibu Maxx
While, I revel in my accomplishment of being a master packer, I take no credit as I was taught by the best. However, I'm sure I'll be faced with challenges in packing strategy in the future as I will have to now pack for three people to go to the beach, losing a portion of my coveted backseat to a car seat. Not to mention having to eventually pack the entire life of my kids when they go to college. By then, I will have moved on to another vehicle, but will always keep an eye on how much storage space comes with my purchase. Perhaps I will echo my Father's creative side and construct some sort of enhancement for maximization of minimal space. After all, I want to make sure I have lots of space to move my wonderful things from point A to point B.
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